


The Third Way

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Space, Captivity, Character Growth, Dictatorship, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Prisoners, Rebel Stiles Stilinski, Royal Derek Hale, Slow Burn, glacially pace slow burn, more tags to be added as plot develops, political reform, seriously slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 09:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 64
Words: 142,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: Peter Hale always taught that there were two ways to control a galactic empire: through force or through fear. Now Derek Hale is the ruler and trying to hold on to his uncle's legacy, so he kidnaps the son of a rebel leader to use as a hostage. He hopes that keeping Stiles his prisoner will keep the rebels from launching more attacks, but he doesn't expect the way Stiles gets under his skin and makes him question everything his uncle taught him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Settle in for the long haul, this is going to take a while. And for context, bear in mind that I've posted 100k word fics without feeling the need to add that warning. This will be a Sterek fic but there's a whole lot of plot and character growth that needs to happen before anything can happen between them, so the relationship will be incredibly slow burn. 
> 
> The early parts of the story will focus mostly on Stiles, Derek, and the beta trio, with occasional appearances for Lydia and Danny, but other Teen Wolf characters will be showing up as the story continues and I'll update the tags accordingly. 
> 
> I've left the story tagged as explicit because I'm not sure what's going to happen in the later chapters, butt here's not going to be anything explicit for a long while. There will be some talk of torture in later chapters, but nothing graphic.

There were two ways to maintain control of a galactic empire, Peter had drilled into Derek from a very young age: force and fear. With force, people could be made to obey, made to act in accordance with the laws. When force was in play then fear of that force was always a factor but, Peter had explained carefully and with examples drawn out over many lessons, there would always be people who would risk their lives despite that fear. However, he had continued, the people most likely to risk their lives were the people who could most be made to fear when something other than their own lives was at stake. 

And that was why Derek sat in his command chair on the bridge of his warship while two of his personal security team hauled in a struggling figure who had been transferred here from the strike team’s spacecraft. The boy was a little older than Derek had expected, a man or near enough by the counts of most systems in this sector of the galaxy. He was thin - no doubt rebels didn't always have a steady food supply - but he was surprisingly attractive despite that. And there was fire in his expression as he met Derek's eyes with a glare. 

"I'll never tell you anything," the boy said. "I don't care how you torture me, I won't betray my father." 

Derek smiled a little, amused by this bold declaration from someone who had probably never seen how a true torturer operated. But information revealed under torture was suspect at the best of times, and Derek had a much more valuable use for this kid. 

"Whether I torture you," Derek said, "is up to you. And to your father." 

"What do you mean?" He was obviously scared, but he was still willing to speak to Derek, to demand answers of him without any simpering or begging. Derek had to respect that. Some of his father's rebel fire had obviously been passed on to the kid. 

"You are now my guest. Your physical needs will be cared for." 

"Just not my emotional and psychological needs?" the kid asked, with enough bite in his tone to amuse Derek even more. 

"If you do something foolish like attempting to hurt any of my people, you will be punished for it. If your father's forces attack any of my outposts, you will be punished for it. If your father's forces kill any of my soldiers, you will lose a part of your body for every life taken." Derek paused to make sure his words sank in, watching the kid squirm nervously. "However, if you both behave sensibly, there is no reason why your stay here shouldn't be a pleasant one." He looked at the two security officers, Boyd and Isaac, holding the kid in place. "Get him cleaned up and find him something clean to wear. He stinks." 

The kid did smell, the sweat of fear and the dirt of too long spent living in hollowed out asteroids where water was too precious to waste on washing. Maybe the kid would be grateful for a real bath. Maybe he would come to see the benefits of being a guest of the overlord. 

"Is this where you order me bathed and oiled and taken to your chambers?" the kid demanded, before security could march him out. 

"If that's where your interests lie," said Derek, "I'm sure that could arranged." The kid was attractive enough and his fire was entertaining. Derek wouldn't mind seeing what he was like in bed, though he wouldn't let the kid’s mouth anywhere near his genitals in case the kid tried to bite them off. It seemed the kid wasn’t going to be interest though. 

"Fuck you," the kid snarled. He spat, the glob of saliva hitting the deck in front of Derek's chair. 

One of the security officers raised a fist to punish the kid for such a show of disrespect. 

"Boyd!" Derek said. The fist froze mid-punch, even as the kid flinched away from it. "He didn't do me any harm. I think punishment is unnecessary this time." 

"Yes, sir," Boyd said. He and Isaac hauled the kid out. Derek sat back in his chair and pushed thoughts of the kid out of his mind. 

He had other things to think about, like the matter of the plague on Fessin 3. The other planets in the area had sent some relief workers, but the system didn't have enough equipment to manage on their own so Derek would have to figure out some way to ship medical supplies between solar systems without depleting any other world's vital stocks. The logistics of moving medicines and plasma and such things would be problematic because a lot of them required careful handling, which meant getting ships and crews capable of moving the materials and doing all of this quickly enough to still be of use. 

At least if keeping the boy here as hostage kept the rebels from their attempts at destabilising civilised society, he'd have more time to devote to matters like the welfare of his people. 

***

Stiles was going to have bruises on his arms from where the two grunts were hauling him around, but he was surprisingly uninjured otherwise. He didn't expect that to last. He was bound to say something to piss of the Almighty Asshole and that would lead to him getting the promised punishment. Stiles was sure that punishment meant torture. Given the threats about cutting parts of him off, he knew he couldn't expect any mercy from the brutal overlord. Stiles had seen the public broadcasts of executions and the various shows of force that Hale had made sure were shown around the galaxy to keep people trembling and afraid. Now Stiles knew he was going to be the star of one of those broadcasts, all in the name of keeping his father in line. 

The grunts reached a door and one of them, Boyd, touched a panel beside it. The door slid open to reveal a neat bathroom, with a shower cubical and even a real bathtub. Stiles couldn't remember the last time he'd had a bath. The grunts shoved him roughly inside. 

"Get yourself clean," Boyd ordered. "Towels are in that cupboard there," he pointed, "and we'll deposit a clean change of clothes through there." He pointed to a plastic box on the wall that had a flap that could be opened from the hallway outside. 

"What if I don't do what I'm told?" Stiles asked. He wanted to understand the limits of his freedom here and how much he could get away with. 

"We've been ordered to get you cleaned up," Boyd said. "You can wash yourself or we can do it for you. Your choice." 

Stiles decided he didn't want these two manhandling him any more than they had done already, especially not if it involved him being naked. Besides, he'd not had a real shower in so long he couldn't even count the weeks. 

"I'll do it," Stiles said. Boyd nodded and closed the door behind him. 

Stiles took a minute to quickly explore the bathroom, looking for anything that might be useful as a weapon. He hoped someone would have left a razor or something he could manipulate into a useful tool, but unless he wanted to try beating someone up with a bar of soap, he was out of luck. He stripped off and got into the shower cubical, adjusting the settings for water flow and heat. Hot water engulfed him, the spray beating down on sore muscles, and he could almost feel the dirt behind banished from his skin. For the first minute, he just stood there and enjoyed the experience of the warmth. 

There was a timer on the control panel, counting down each second he spent under the spray, no doubt as part of an effort to reduce the strain on the ship's recycling systems. Most showers would cut off after a while, once an allocated water ration had been used up. Stiles decided to stay in the shower until that cut off kicked in. He couldn't rebel without getting punished, but he was just following instructions. He'd been told to get clean and so he would, wasting Hale's water was just a by-product. He scrubbed every inch of himself and then he soaped up and scrubbed himself clean all over again. 

He washed behind his ears and between his toes. He rinsed himself off with the clean water and then wondered how long this was going to take. He watched the counter ticking upwards, seconds and minutes passing, adding up, becoming more and more accusatory, but never triggering the automatic cut off that Stiles had expected. He wondered if this was Hale's personal bathroom. Perhaps the overlord's showers didn't come with rationing measures. 

Stiles was starting to get bored. How long could he stay in a shower anyway? His boredom was destroying his plans for petty revenge and he was starting to worry that the grunts would wonder what was taking him so long. The last thing he wanted was for them to burst in on him and drag him off to his cell while he was naked. Stiles climbed out of the shower, but left the water running rather than abandon his revenge plan entirely. He retrieved one of the towels, which were larger and fluffier than any towel he'd ever touched in his life. He'd spent the last year using a stained rag as a towel and there was something almost decadent about wrapping the towel around his entire body as he went to see what clothes he'd been given. The clothes were clean and soft too, with loose pants and shirt and some underwear, all in a dull shade of beige. There were even some shoes, though they were more like slippers with their thin soles and lack of fastenings. They were probably fine for walking around on smooth ship decks, but would be next to useless for walking outside. Not that he was likely to see outside on any world any time soon. He pulled on the dull beige and it was hard to think of the clothes as anything but a prison uniform. 

He turned off the shower at the last possible moment and opened the door. The grunts stood to attention from where they'd been lounging across the hallway. 

"About time," one said. 

"We were starting to think you'd drowned in there," the other said. 

They took hold of Stiles' arms, more gently this time, and started marching him through the halls of the warship towards whatever cell was now his home.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was bored. Granted, when he'd been taken prisoner by soldiers of the overlord and hauled before the tyrant who ruled half the galaxy, he'd anticipated hideous torture, but boredom was a very specific form of torture for Stiles. He would almost rather be beaten and electrocuted right now. 

The room they'd locked him in wasn't bad for a cell. It was almost comfortable. Most of the small space was taken up by the narrow bed, but that was a whole lot better than the sort of places he'd been sleeping recently. There was a computer console in the wall above the bed, with a hinge so he could position the screen to the right direction whether he was sitting or lying on the bed. The problem was there was very little available for him to access. The computer was cut off from the main ship's network, so the only thing Stiles could access was a set of videos on emergency safety procedures. He started playing them just because he needed something to do but they couldn't hold his interest. Whoever had made them was clearly some sort of reverse-genius for somehow making explosive decompression and engine core ruptures sound tedious. 

He persuaded the computer screen to show him the time according to the galactic standard, but that almost made things worse, seeing how long he'd been trapped in here. 

After a while, he tried to sleep, and managed to snatch a few fretful hours, broken by anxiety dreams and images of his father being slaughtered trying to rescue him. Stiles was almost grateful when the door opened and two of the overlord's goons showed up. One was the big, black guy from the day before, but the other was an attractive blond girl who Stiles wouldn't have minded getting to know if they'd met under circumstances other than her holding him prisoner. 

They marched Stiles along hallways and into an elevator, down three decks, and then along more hallways. This warship was huge. Stiles had seen pictures of it, but he'd never truly comprehended how big it was until he still inside it. He could get lost in here. He was a tiny speck of dust in the overlord's war machine. 

The two grunts took Stiles into a small room and Stiles' blood ran cold. The only furniture in the room was a metal table with restraints set into its surface. Two men stood waiting for him, one of whom was Overlord Derek Hale. The other was a guy who couldn't be much older than Stiles, who glanced his way but then quickly turned his attention back to the computer console set into one wall. The door slid closed and the two grunts released Stiles' arms to take up a position blocking that only exit. Stiles' eyes kept being drawn back to the table and his fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of his shirt, trying to turn some of his fear into movement, to be rid of it, but finding yet more fear waiting to overwhelm him. 

"Strip to your underwear," Hale ordered, sounding almost bored. 

"I'm sure you can torture me just as easily with my clothes on, you perverted fuck." 

Hale raised an eyebrow in surprise at Stiles' response, but his expression seemed more amused than angry. That was probably a good thing for Stiles, but he didn't want to be entertaining. 

"You can remove your clothes yourself," Hale said, "or Boyd can rip them off you, but that will leave you with nothing to wear for the walk back to your room." 

Stiles took that nugget of information that he'd be returned to his cell and that gave him the tiniest fraction of relief, because it meant Hale expected him to be able to walk when they were done here. Stiles considered his options and decided that he'd rather have something for him to wear later, so he stripped his clothes off, letting them fall into a heap on the floor. 

"Are we recording?" Hale asked. 

"Yes, sir," said the guy by the computer console. 

Recording? Stiles looked at the wall above the console, seeing the dark circle of a camera lens he hadn't noticed before. He brought his arms across his body in a futile effort to get some cover. The fear was shifting to revulsion. 

"Put your arms to your sides," Hale said, "and turn around slowly." 

"Why?" Stiles asked. "So you can get a before shot for your torture?" 

"So that your father can see that you're unharmed." 

Stiles nearly stopped breathing. For half a second, it was as though those words were echoing inside his head, erasing all other thoughts. 

"My dad's going to see this recording?" 

"Of course. For this to be an effective deterrent, he has to know that you're still alive. Turn around." 

Stiles didn't care about showing his dad his back. There was something more important he had to do. He stared right at the camera and moved toward it a few quick steps. 

"Dad, I love you. Keep fighting. Don't stop because of me. You have to keep up the rebellion. You-" 

"Stop recording," Hale said. 

"Yes, sir." The guy tapped the console. 

"Danny, trim the ending. You can keep up to 'I love you' but delete everything after that and then transmit." 

"Yes, sir," the guy, Danny said again. Stiles started to wonder if he could say anything else. 

"My dad will know the video was cut off," Stiles said. "He'll know I was trying to tell him something." 

"I know. But now he won't know what. And he'll be left wondering how you'll be punished for trying to communicate." 

Stiles hadn't thought about punishment when he'd spoken but now all those fears came crashing back. It had been worth it. Whatever Hale did to him, he'd still got to tell his dad he loved him. That might be the last thing he ever said to his dad and he would endure any pain for having said it. 

"Hold out your arm," Hale said. 

Stiles raised his left arm. If it was going to get broken or something, he'd rather have his left out of action than his right. Hale pulled something out of a pocket, a thin, white rectangle. He swung it towards Stiles' wrist and Stiles flinched automatically, expecting pain, but he barely felt the contact. As soon as the rectangle came up against his skin, it bent, closing into a tight circle. It was a cuff, automatically closing to a point tight enough that he'd never be able to pull it over his hand. Stiles tugged at it anyway, just in case, but it had ceased to be flexible now that it was in this shape. 

"What is this?" he asked. 

"It's linked into the security system," Hale said, then added, almost as an afterthought, "You can put your clothes back on. The video will be enough to send to your father." 

Stiles grabbed gratefully for his clothes, hurrying to pull them on, while Hale continued, "The bracelet contains a tracker. If you move into an unauthorised area without a security escort, it will alert you by vibrating and playing a warning sound. If you do not return to an authorised area within three seconds, it will alert security and administer electric shocks." 

Stiles didn't ask how strong the shocks would be, whether they'd be like a static shock or something powerful enough to render him unconscious. He decided he'd rather not know. He was glad to learn that he wouldn't be expected to remain in that cell at all times. 

"When you are on your own," Hale said, "you are authorised to go to your room, the canteen, the washrooms, or the gym. You may earn further freedom of movement through good behaviour, and bad behaviour will result in you being confined to your room. Do you understand?" 

Stiles nodded. But then he added, "I don't actually know how to find any of those rooms." 

"Boyd will show you." Hale nodded to the black grunt. "If you have any reason to go to somewhere outside your authorised area - if you want to go to medical or something - then Boyd, Erica, or another of the security team will escort you." 

By this point, Stiles was fully dressed again and it seemed the torture table wasn't in the plan for the day. Hale turned for the door, apparently done with him. The grunts stepped aside to let him pass, Danny hurrying after him. 

"Come on," said Boyd. No one grabbed Stiles, but he was acutely aware of the cuff on his wrist that could give me electric shocks if he got too far from his security escort. So as Boyd started walking, Stiles hurried to catch up and the girl, Erica, fell into step beside him. 

Stiles lasted about thirty seconds into walking quietly along ship hallways before he felt he had to break the silence. "So... how long have you guys been stationed on the overlord's warship?" 

"A couple of weeks," Erica said, and Boyd glanced at her. The two shared a look that seemed to be full of communication that completely passed Stiles by. Stiles did his best to ignore this look. 

"So he gives the job of guarding the political hostages to the newbies," Stiles said. He wondered if he ought to feel offended about that. It did explain why these two didn't look much older than he was, but the two of them shared another look that was clearly full of amusement at Stiles' expense. 

"We're part of Derek's personal guard," Boyd said. "We travel with him. We've been on the ship a couple of weeks, this time, because before that Derek was on a state visit to the capital on Praxo." 

Hale had his personal guards looking after Stiles? He felt substantially less offended, though it might just be that the regular crew had regular jobs and it wasn't like the security team was needed to watch out for snipers while they were on board the overlord's private warship. Stiles couldn't help note that this guy had referred to the supreme ruler of hundreds of worlds by his first name like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"You're on first name terms with the overlord?" Stiles asked. "I guess it must be easier than calling him by his official title of That Evil Bastard Destroying the Lives of Most of the People in the Galaxy." 

Boyd stopped walking, turning to face Stiles with a glare. Stiles flinched back and nearly crashed into Erica. 

"You should keep your mouth shut," Boyd said. "I could punch you in the face right now and only you and Erica would be able to say that you didn't attack me first. Which of us do you think she'd side with?" 

Stiles nodded his understanding of the threat and pressed his lips closed, but Boyd had given away more than he'd probably intended. He'd basically admitted that he wasn't allowed to hit Stiles unless Stiles started fighting him first. Stiles filed that fact away in his mind, in case he needed it later. It was surprising, but Stiles supposed there was some sense to it. He was here as a hostage and Hale wanted his father to stop the rebel attacks. Hale had said that Stiles' treatment would be based on his father's actions, which presumably meant that he wouldn't be tortured so long as his dad went along with whatever Hale demanded. Stiles might find his time here not nearly as bad as he expected, though he wasn't going to push his luck too far. He was still in a very precarious position and Boyd probably wasn't the only one here who would bend the rules a little and cause Stiles pain.


	3. Chapter 3

The gym was a marvel. Stiles had never been particularly interested in gyms, but he did suffer from a surfeit of energy that needed to be burned off somehow. Given his limited options for moving around the ship, the gym seemed like the sensible bet so he got Boyd to show it to him first. The place was huge, bigger than the whole living quarters for the last rebel outpost Stiles had been sheltered at, and those had housed a hundred people. The cavernous room was broken into four areas. One had a set of combat rings, which Stiles was determined to stay well clear of, in which some of the security team were sparring. There was an area of weights machines, each of which came with a holographic trainer to demonstrate the correct motion, correct mistakes, and highlight which muscle groups were being used. A quarter of the room was taken up by an obstacle course, full of things to climb over and under and through. Stiles could picture himself getting tangled in one of those nets and ending up dangling upside down, so he stayed clear of that area too. 

Instead, he went to the final zone of the gym, which housed the cardio machines inside strange domes. He climbed inside one and found a treadmill that could move from side to side as well as forward and back, so that whichever direction he walked, the treadmill could adjust and keep him in the centre of it. Legs under each corner could raise or lower to give incline in any direction. 

When he activated the machine, a projected set of controls let him choose a setting and then the inside of the dome lit up with images of scenery, with holograms providing three dimensional foreground to make it seem like he was really walking through a forest or by the ocean. The machine even adjusted the life support controls so that a breeze wafted natural scents into Stiles' face as he explored the virtual settings. 

The illusion wasn't completely perfect, because the treadmill under his feet was too smooth for the rough forest path and the air wasn't nearly cold enough for the mountain climb, but it was impressive nonetheless. Stiles had spent far too long holed up inside rebel bases and walking on the surface of planets, even in an illusory way, made a wonderful change. 

At least until he'd spent about ten minutes in each of the landscapes available and was starting to get bored again. There was nothing going on in any of the settings and there was only so long he could stroll through flower meadows or around lakes before he started wondering what happened next. He left the gym, legs aching from all the walking, with no idea how he was going to spend the rest of the day, let alone however many endless days of imprisonment stretched in front of him. 

He spent a little while exploring the limits of his movements. He could find his way back to the rooms he'd been authorised to enter and decided to see how far beyond those rooms he could go. About two metres, seemed to be the answer. Any further than that and his cuff vibrated angrily, giving off warning beeps, and Stiles hurried back into the allowed zone before he found out how painful the electric shocks were. There wasn't much he could get to within the small area he was allowed to explore. There were a number of crew quarters, but he couldn't open those doors and didn't expect the rooms beyond them would be any more interesting than the one they'd given him. 

There were other doors he couldn't open. He'd hoped he would be able to get into the cleaning cupboard by the washrooms - not the nice washroom he'd been shown to after his capture, but a shared facility for the crew. He'd hoped that the cleaning cupboards would be a source of tools or chemicals he could use to construct a crude weapon. But he couldn't even get in there to find out what it contained and he didn't want to get caught try to break in. 

With all this walking and exploring, he'd managed to pass an entire morning, so he headed to the canteen. The room was full of people and chatter, and Stiles noticed a lot of eyes turning his direction when he walked in, a slight quieting of voices from those nearest to him. He did his best not to notice and instead went to the machines at one end of the room that would supply him with food. No one had bothered explaining how to operate these things, but there was a big obvious button, so Stiles pressed it. A slot in the front of the machine opened and spat out a tray containing an unappealing grey mush, an even less appealing green mush, a spoon, and a cup of water. There was no choice available, and no provisions for taste, metabolic rate, or allergies. Even at the rebel camps, where food was always in short supply, there had been more choice than this. It couldn't be a system that anyone liked. 

But when Stiles turned away from the machines, he noticed that most of the others in the mess had something different on their trays, something that looked a hell of lot nicer than anything on Stiles'. One had a lump of what was either real meat or a very good synthetic. Stiles wondered if he'd just picked the wrong machine, but then a woman in the blue-green uniform of engineering stepped up to the machine. Instead of pressing the button, she held some sort of ID card to it, which resulted in her tray of actual food. Stiles supposed that those who were actually crew on the ship could get real food, though he expected that the meat was for high-ranking officers only. As a lowly prisoner, he got gunk. 

He started to carry his tray over to the tables, scanning his eyes across the room for an empty spot, when he noticed three faces at one of the tables that were at least somewhat familiar. Boyd, Erica, and the guy who'd been working with Boyd yesterday were all sitting together, talking cheerfully. Stiles changed his mind about seeking a solitary spot and walked over to them. He sat down next to the trio without waiting for an invitation, and three pairs of surprised and questioning eyes turned towards him. 

Before anyone could tell him to get lost, Stiles said, "Can one of you unlock the computer in my room so I can get something to do? I don't really care what. Books, entertainment programmes, I'd settle for doing my homework right now." 

The trio looked at each other. Erica leaned forward. "You should be careful asking for things to do; someone might give you a job you don't like." 

"Look, I'm bored. If I don't get something to occupy my time with, I'm going to gouge my own eyes out with this spoon just for something to do. I'm sure your boss wouldn't like that, since he went to all that trouble to show my dad I haven't been hurt." Stiles wasn't anywhere near the stage of physically maiming himself on purpose, but if he didn't get something to do soon, there was a good chance he would hurt himself by accident. Boredom and Stiles were a potentially lethal combination. 

"We can't do anything with your computer," said the guy whose name Stiles didn't know yet. "You'd have to ask Danny about that." 

"Danny? Oh, the guy who was filming the perv video. Right." 

"That... That's not what it was," Boyd said. 

"I was told to strip while I was being filmed without my knowledge," Stiles said, raising an eyebrow. Boyd didn't argue the point further. 

"Derek probably won't agree to your computer been unlocked," Erica said, "in case you try to hack into the ship's systems or something, but we can ask about letting you use the library. At least there, someone can keep an eye on you." 

"My eyes are safe for now," Stiles said, waving his spoon at her. He dug into the mush and ate a mouthful, making a face as the stuff made contact with his tongue. He forced himself to swallow it down. "Ugh. What is this stuff? Even with the rebels I could get actual food." 

"Punishment rations," Boyd said. "We can talk to Derek about them too, but I doubt he'll agree to better food and the library." 

Stiles considered. He forced himself to eat another mouthful. It wasn't _so_ bad, he supposed. It wasn't like it was rotten or anything. He gulped down a glass of water to wash away the taste. 

"I'd rather have the library," he said, and then made himself keep eating. If this was all he was going to get any time soon, he would have to learn to live with it. 

The trio accepted that answer and finished up their own meals with deliberate speed, leaving Stiles alone with his tray of mush. He kept eating, knowing he was unlikely to get anything better any time soon, but hoping that he might get something to do. He almost wouldn't mind if they gave him some menial tasks to get on with because anything had to be better than trying to figure out how he was going to fill the rest of the day that stretched on in front of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles managed to entertain himself briefly with eavesdropping on conversations in the canteen and trying to learn something about the people around him. It wasn't exactly the most useful spying since people often weren't talking about work as they had their meals together, and he wouldn't have any way to transmit the information back to his father anyway, but it filled time and let him pretend that he was accomplishing something. The room quickly emptied though as people went back on shift and Stiles was left with wandering around the short stretches of hallway he had access too. 

After a while, he went back to the gym to try and figure out a way to get the holograms to do something more interesting than demonstrate the correct way to lift weights. It turned out he couldn't, at least not without equipment, and so when Boyd came to find him, Stiles was trying to make a pyramid out of dumbbells just because. 

"I'm going to take you to the library," Boyd said. "We've updated your security clearance, but you will have to be escorted to and from the library. You can't just wander down there whenever you feel like, and you have to follow the instructions of the librarian." 

"Sure. No problem." Stiles would have agreed to just about anything to get into a library. He followed Boyd from the gym and into the elevator. The library was two decks up from the one Stiles had been given his room on, but his wrist cuff didn't complain at him, probably due to Boyd's presence. 

The library, when they arrived, had a number of computer terminals and projection displays, as Stiles' expected, and the usual ports for plugging in personal devices to project data, but there were also some shelves along one wall, hidden behind transparent plating, that contained antique books with actual paper. Stiles instantly forgot about Boyd and went to this wall, peering through the protective wall at the faded colours of the covers and the lettering that told what stories lay within. Stiles let out a soft, "Oh," of awe as he looked. His mom had had a couple of old books that had belonged to her grandfather, stories he'd loved so much that he'd preserved the physical objects as well as the data of the text. Stiles remembered his mom reading him one of the stories, handling the pages with infinite care because the books were close to falling apart. He never would have imaged that someone would have a whole wall covered in books like that. 

"The text of all these books is on the library files," a sharp voice said. There was a definite note of disapproval in that tone, as though Stiles might damage the books just by looking at them. A beautiful woman with strawberry-blond hair had been working at a desk in the corner, and Stiles had been too distracted by the books to notice her, which was surprising because she was stunning. It helped that she was wearing an elegant dress instead of the uniforms that most people around here wore. Stiles gave her a smile. She looked at Stiles like he was an insect that had crawled out into her space. 

"I've never seen so many physical books in one place," Stiles said. The awe in his voice seemed to soften the woman slightly, but not enough for Stiles to think she'd ever let him touch these books. 

She let him use one of the computer terminals though and Stiles spent several hours flicking between one book and another, reading about everything from history to terraforming processes. He skimmed across anything that looked like it might be interesting and was buried in a text on design considerations for interstellar crafts when Erica appeared to take Stiles to dinner. 

The next few days fell into a routine. Stiles would wake and wash and have breakfast in the canteen before spending a little time walking in the gym. When he couldn't stand that anymore, he would pester people into flagging down Hale's security trio and one of them would show up to take him to the library. The gorgeous woman turned out to be called Lydia and she spent most of her time working at one of the other computers, using the projector to display walls of equations and calculations that Stiles couldn't make head nor tails of. He tried asking her about it and she simply told him it was none of his business. She ignored most of Stiles' attempts to make conversation and so he returned to the books. 

After a few days of this, Isaac found him at breakfast and told Stiles to go with him. Stiles found himself marched back to the room where the video had been shot of him for his dad. Danny and Hale were there again and it seemed like this was going to be a repeat of the first experience. 

"You didn't get enough creepy video the first time?" Stiles asked. 

"Your father needs to see that you are still alive," Hale replied. "Strip." 

Stiles pulled his clothes off as Danny started up the recording. Stiles tried not to feel self-conscious, but he was aware of the metal table with its restraints and he knew that this could be a lot more painful than it currently was. 

"Turn around," Hale ordered. 

"My dad doesn't need to see my ass." 

"Turn around." 

Stiles turned. "There. Are you satisfied? If I'm making these videos for you, the least you could do is let me watch videos in my cell. Maybe unlock the entertainment channels or something." It felt dangerous to ask for something else after he'd been granted permission to use the library, but Stiles needed more stuff to do. He needed variety. If he had to do the same stuff every day for the rest of his life, he was going to lose it. "At least let me have better food," he said. 

"We're done here," Hale said, ignoring Stiles' request completely. "You can get dressed again." 

Danny stopped the recording and Hale walked out, showing no interest whatsoever in Stiles or what had just happened. Frustrated as he was, Stiles supposed that having the dictator of most of the galaxy ignoring him was probably the best outcome for his situation. He got dressed and let Isaac walk him back to the gym. 

The following day, when Stiles went to the library, there was no sign of Lydia, but a second projector was operational. Like Lydia's display, it was showing numbers, but these weren't complex calculations but dramatic statistics in a flashy presentation. "50% increase," showed in big letters, but the presentation wasn't clear on what was increasing, over what time period, or whether this was a good or bad thing. Curious, Stiles went to the projector and swiped through the presentation, trying to figure out what it was about. It took him a moment, because whoever had made the presentation had kept it light on detail, but it seemed to be about a new system for checking whether people on the food credit program, receiving credits from the government due to illness, were cheating the system. 

Stiles was a little surprised that anyone would be proposing a redesign of the system, rather than suggesting killing outright. The food credit program was one of a few lingering vestiges of a more socialist government that had once ruled half a dozen worlds, including Beacon, where Stiles had been born. Since the Hales had conquered that system a couple of centuries earlier, they'd been gradually weakening, phasing out, or killing off all of the programs that the former government had run as social safety nets or to allow class mobility. Except, as he poked and prodded through the presentation's supplementary materials, he wondered if perhaps this proposal was part of the plan to kill a vital program by making the program untenable and forcing people off it to make it easier to kill later. The more he looked, the more convinced Stiles became that whoever had put this presentation together didn't care about helping people. 

There was a set of accompanying files, with vague and unhelpful names, that Stiles thought might shed some light on the ominous-looking numbers in the presentation, but it was quickly obvious that whoever had put the files together had no interest in shedding light. There was data, but it was scattered across different reports, labelled poorly, and measured in so many different ways that combining it into a coherent picture was painful. Given how slick and shiny the presentation was, Stiles couldn't believe this chaos in the supporting data was accidental, and that made him instantly suspicious. 

He tapped the projector and brought up a blank spreadsheet and a note page to work on and started translating the numbers into something meaningful. He was trying to untangle the projected savings numbers when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. 

Stiles was jolted out of his concentration and came to the realisation that he was poking around in something he hadn't been given access to. As he turned around, he saw exactly whose computer he'd been poking around in. Derek Hale stood there, arms crossed, a serious look on his face and an eyebrow raised in question. 

"Sorry." Stiles got to his feet. Hale was standing close enough that Stiles had to edge along the table, through one of the data projections. Lydia stood a little way behind Hale, watching as though this was a cabaret show for her personal entertainment. 

"What's all this?" Hale asked, waving at Stiles' notes and calculations. 

"It's just... the presentation was open to some stats and they seemed a bit vague to me and that was suspicious, so I did some digging and whoever put the presentation together is full of bullshit." 

"Explain." 

Stiles really wanted to escape right now, but he couldn't even leave the library without a security escort, and Hale was staring at him with that severe look on his face. There didn't seem to be any escape route. 

"Well," he said, "here, this was the number that drew my attention." He swiped through the presentation. "A fifty percent increase, but that means nothing on its own. Something going from two instances to three is a fifty percent increase, and this slide doesn't tell you how fast that increase rate is happening. So I checked the supporting reports to see where that figure came from." 

Hale put a hand on Stiles' shoulder and steered him back to the chair, pushing downwards firmly until Stiles sat again. 

"Where does the figure come from?" Hale asked. 

"The only data that comes close is in this report here," Stiles dredged up a file that had a name made up of seemingly random characters. The file showed a table of numbers, each one the instances of cheating on the government credit system in a standard cycle. There was data for twenty five standard years. 

"If we do a calculation, the number of instances of cheating on the credit system has increased by about forty three percent. I guess whoever made the presentation rounded up to a nice, round fifty percent to make it seem worse. But the problem's bigger than just the number being exaggerated slightly. This is over a twenty five year period, and there's another report, here," Stiles brought that up on the projector alongside the first, "which shows the number of people claiming credits. Over the same time period, that number has increased too, and increased faster, so actually the percentage of people on the system cheating has gone down. And that percentage is tiny. Here." He pointed to one of his calculations. "Less than point one percent of people on the system cheat, according to this data." 

Hale turned to look at Lydia, a question on his face. She peered over Stiles' shoulder. 

"His math checks out," she said. 

"It's more than just the math," Stiles said. "These reports don't actually say what counts as cheating. You're meant to assume that it's, like, someone perfectly healthy claiming to have a chronic illness. There's nothing in the supporting data to say whether that's true or false, but the library files actually have some data on the credit system and I found a list of what counts as cheating. Whoever made this presentation obviously didn't want you to have this list alongside the reports because what they count as cheating is a lot. Yeah, there's claiming where you don't deserve it, but some of this other stuff, like trading food credits for non-food goods and organising coalitions, and that's something else entirely." 

"It still seems pretty serious to me," Hale said. 

Stiles scoffed before he could stop himself. "That's because you've never been starving. My mom got sick while my dad was in conscripted service so we lived on credits for a time. Food credits don't cover stuff like soap, or medication. And you can get better deals if you buy food in bulk, so 'organising a coalition'," Stiles made air quotes around the words, "was my mom buying enough protein paste and vitamin supplements for two families and giving half to the neighbour, who would give her soap and my meds in exchange. We were cheating the system because that was the only choice we had. We're probably two of the numbers on that report," Stiles jabbed at the first report, "but we would have died without the credits." 

Hale didn't say anything right away. He looked at Stiles' calculations, and the numbers on the presentation. 

"What you're saying," Hale said, "is that the people who told me this are trying to make the problem seem much larger than it is." 

"Basically, yeah." 

Hale pointed back at Stiles' spreadsheets. "What are these numbers?" 

"Those were me making a stab at the implementation costs of this new system," Stiles said. The creator of the presentation had been trying to argue that the way checks on claimants were handled needed to be changed, proposing a new method for the whole system. Stiles swiped through the presentation until he got to the screen talking about how human-driven checks would be more effective over the computerised ones. "This goes on about interviews and human reviews, and that would take a huge amount of effort. I did a low estimate of cost based on having people spent fifteen minutes on each case, which is a ridiculously short time for a detailed review, and the people doing it being paid minimum wage, and this is the figure for the cost." He pointed, then to another number. "This figure is how much money will be saved if this system catches twice any many people cheating the system as the currently reported number, and that every one of them is disqualified from receiving credits." 

Hale leaned closer to the projected spreadsheet, close enough that Stiles could almost feel the heat of his body. He was frowning. 

"But that's..." 

"Yep," Stiles said. "Even with my way-better-than-best-possible-case numbers, this change is going to cost you about five times as much as it will save you. And the only way to achieve these sort of figures would be to kick off the program a whole load of people who will die without the assistance. That's probably half the point. The new system has a whole bunch more bureaucracy to deal with so the people who are really sick will have a hard time getting through everything and lose the credits, even if they desperately need them." 

He remembered how his mom had been towards the end. She never would have remained coherent enough to get through the checks and interviews the process being described in this presentation would involve. If this process had been in place at that time, she and Stiles would have starved to death. 

"Not that you care about innocent people suffering," Stiles said. "If you gave a damn about the people in this galaxy, you wouldn't have a rebellion on your hands and I wouldn't be here." 

Hale straightened up from where he'd been bending over, studying the numbers. Stiles froze, realising that he'd just said that out loud. Hale fixed his gaze on Stiles' face with a hard, angry look on his face. Stiles wondered what would happen next. Would Hale torture him for that outburst and for going through his files? Or would he simply revoke permission to move about the ship? Stiles thought being locked in that cell for days at a time would be as bad as any torture. 

But Hale just walked out of the room, beckoning at Lydia to follow him.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles' words rang in Derek's ears. "Not that you care," he'd said, and he'd sounded like he meant it. He genuinely believed that Derek didn't give a damn about the citizens of the galaxy who lived and died in his domain. 

Derek was angry at those words, because he did care. He wanted to do right by the people he ruled, to be a ruler people thought of as just and good. He knew all the things his uncle had taught him, but he'd still thought he was fair. Stiles obviously thought differently. Derek could have blamed that on Stiles' bias, on having been raised by an anarchist, but the fact remained that Derek would have agreed to the change in the food credit program if Stiles hadn't been there. In the meeting room, the facts had seemed clear and the conclusions sensible. Stiles had just shattered all of that certainty. 

Derek would have agreed to a system that made people suffer, not because he was evil, but because he didn't know enough about what was really going on. 

"Was he correct?" Derek asked Lydia as they walked together down the ship's hallway, Boyd and Isaac falling into place behind them as escort guards. 

"His calculations were solid," she replied. "He was obviously making huge assumptions for those last figures, but he was erring in favour of the opposing side by quite a significant margin and the answer still came out in his favour. I'd definitely agree with his assessment that whoever put together the supplementary files didn't want to make it easy to see what was really going on." 

"So you're conclusion is that he's right." 

"Uh huh. The people who put that presentation together are full of BS and the whole thing will cost far more than it's worth." 

"Thanks." 

Derek could have asked Lydia to check the figures but it had never occurred to him that it was necessary. She was working on the predictive analysis of rebel troop movements, which was obviously vital, so having her take time away from that to review a plan presented by someone who was supposed to be on his side would have seemed ridiculous. And yet, apparently, Derek should have asked someone. He couldn't help wondering how many other plans he'd agreed to that were as terrible as this one without ever realising he was screwing up. That thought just made him angrier. 

He thanked her for her advice and let her return to her work. He continued on to the meeting room with just his bodyguards. 

As he walked, he glanced back at them. "What do you think of Stiles?" 

"He's annoying," Boyd answered. "Can't stop moving." Despite his words, he said this in a tone that was almost fond. 

"You've got to admire his courage," Isaac said. "Even when he's scared, it doesn't keep him from speaking his mind." 

Given what Derek had just seen, he wouldn't argue with that. It was a shame Stiles was a rebel. If he were on Derek's side, he would have made a powerful advisor, a very useful ally to have. But there had been that hatred in Stiles' voice, the certainty that Derek was a heartless monster. Perhaps Derek could show him otherwise. 

"When we're done with the food credit reform meeting," Derek said, "I have some instructions regarding Stiles." He told them what he wanted and got their agreement, but then it was time to get back to the matter at hand, a matter which, if Stiles was to believed, could leave innocent people starving to death. He called up the ship's captain and arranged for a crew detail to come to the meeting room under Erica's command. Derek preferred using just his personal security when possible, to avoid having to take the ship's crew away from their main duties, but there were more than three people waiting for him in the meeting room. He didn't want his people to be outnumbered, no matter how much faith he had in their abilities. 

Derek strode into the meeting room, Boyd and Isaac taking up positions on either side of the door. The people who'd been sitting at the conference table or meandering about, chatting, now snapped to attention. With a wave of his hand, Derek bid them all to sit and he took the seat he'd left earlier, when he'd called a short recess to the meeting. 

"I apologise for keeping you waiting," Derek said. "It took me some time to go through the data because the supplementary files you provided were not particularly well-organised. You should probably work on that because it almost felt like you were trying to keep me from understanding the data. I'm sure that's not the case though, because deliberately misleading me is basically the same as lying, and you all know that lying to me is treason." 

He gave a cold smile to the assembled group, aware of the tension radiating off each of them. He tried to mimic how Peter would have acted in such a situation, not that Peter would have ever allowed himself to come so close to being fooled. There were a lot of nervous glances that told Derek exactly what he wanted to know: these people had been deliberately misleading him, and they just thought he wouldn't notice it. 

"I have some questions for you," Derek said. He set his projector down on the table and brought up one of the reports from the recent files, showing the table of data Stiles had started with. "I take it, the dramatic fifty percent increase you talked about comes from this data?" 

Harris, the man who'd given the presentation earlier, cleared his throat and tried to look composed. "Yes, sir, that's right." 

"Then, minor exaggeration of the percentage aside, my main concern is when compared to these numbers, or the total people on the program." 

Derek started going through the issues Stiles had pointed out to him, acting as though he hadn't needed to have them explained to him by a prisoner, and Harris tried to argue away every point. It was clear fairly quickly that Harris hadn't been prepared for this. He'd expected Derek to accept the facts as presented to him and not look beneath the surface. It didn't help Derek's anger that the man had been right. 

When Derek pointed out the low percentage of people on the program who cheated, Harris countered that those numbers were only the ones they knew about. He put forward the idea that there was a lot of cheating going on but they didn't know how much because the current system of checks didn't catch them. When Derek asked for more information, it was clear that Harris had no data to back up this speculation. 

When Derek brought up the list of what counted as cheating, Harris stumbled over his words trying to give an answer, before settling on the argument that any form of cheating was unacceptable. 

"So you're saying," said Derek, "that anyone caught committing any infraction, no matter how minor, deserves to have their access to food taken away?" 

"I... I didn't say that. We shouldn't go that far. But we need to know about it. Our proposed system would allow us to check for all manner of cheating." 

Derek was willing to acknowledge the possibility that Harris was right about there being more cheating going on than was in the data of known cheating, but he was asking a lot to be invested into that possibility with no real certainty. So Derek switched to the next point, which was around the cost. 

"If you don't know how many people are cheating the system," Derek said, "it's very difficult to come up with an estimate of how much money your new system of checks would save the government, but these are just some rough figures." He dragged the figures out of Stiles' spreadsheet and projected them over the table, enlarging them so that the two totals loomed over them all. 

"This figure is a rough guess at cost savings, but this one is a very conservative estimate of how much I would be expected to pay to implement your program, and that's based on a very short period of time being spent investigating each case, so short that there are bound to be a number of mistakes made - either refusing credits to those who need them or allowing cheaters to slip through the cracks. If you intend to give the thorough investigation of each case that you were describing in your presentation, I would expect this number to actually be significantly larger." 

He fixed his eyes on Harris and gave a cold smile. Harris just stared at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. After a few moments, he pulled himself together, saying, "We wouldn't need to do the deep, expensive investigation in every case. We would make use of automation to reduce the cost in places..." 

Derek cut him off, "But you started your presentation by saying that automation isn't accurate enough and can be fooled, and that's why we have a problem of people cheating the system." 

"Yes, well, what I mean is that we can have the best of both worlds, with human oversight on some cases but automation on others." 

"That wasn't the way you described it earlier. Earlier you were talking about a thorough review by human eyes on each case, which would be very time consuming and expensive. So which is it? Were you lying to me earlier? Or are you lying to me now?" 

"I... um... well..." Harris cast his eyes about as though hoping for rescue, but the colleagues who had accompanied him to this meeting were all avoiding his eyes. 

Then one woman stood up sharply. "Your highness, sir, he's lying. He knows that the system he's proposing would be extremely expensive, and be overkill for a minor problem, and probably not actually be any better than the existing automated checks." 

"Carolyn!" Harris hissed angrily. "What are you saying?" 

The woman, Carolyn, kept talking. "He wanted you to agree to this process so that his company could increase its profits by more than twenty percent. He put the presentation together believing that you wouldn't go into the supporting data in enough detail to understand it but the rest of us had more faith in your highness. We put the presentation together as instructed so as to keep our jobs, confident in the knowledge that you would get to the truth." 

Harris spluttered and tried to protest, but it was obvious he was doomed. Carolyn had just thrown him to the wolves, but Derek had to admire that she was trying to protect her colleagues while she did so. She could easily have accused them in the same moment as denouncing her boss, but she tried to paint them as innocent, tried to pin all the blame on Harris. Perhaps that was the truth and he was the one behind it all, but Derek doubted it. All these people around the table had probably been equally convinced of their ability to deceive Derek in the name of their own profits. But Harris was the one with the authority, so it made sense that he shoulder the bulk of the blame. 

He turned to Carolyn. 

"Thank you for your confession," Derek said. "Isaac, take her to a private office and have her record a full statement of everything that happened regarding this proposal, who made what decisions, and the names of all those, inside this room and out, who were involved in this planned deception. When she's finished, take her to the shuttle bay and have her returned to the planet's surface. Inform the pilot that he need not wait for the others." 

A couple of others at the table started protesting, claiming that they hadn't done anything wrong, that this wasn't their fault. Derek ignored them. Isaac moved round the table to Carolyn and escorted her to the door. As soon as they had left, Erica walked in with the crew Derek had requested. They took up positions around the table, standing behind the remaining business people, who all now looked pale and scared. 

"Please, your highness," said one, "have mercy." 

"I may be persuaded to be merciful," Derek said, "if you can be honest. Each of you will be taken to a separate room to give an independent statement. I will be reviewing your statements, as well as communication logs and meeting transcripts from your company's systems, to uncover who was involved in the decision to deceive me. I don't like being lied to, and this system you were proposing would have caused suffering for the most vulnerable of my people, all in the name of greed. Give your statements honestly, because if you lie to me again, your punishments will be far more severe." 

With that, Derek turned and walked from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was left in the library alone. After a few minutes, Lydia returned and went over to her usual spot as though nothing had happened. Stiles just stood there, expecting the guards to appear to drag him back to his cell, or for something to happen. Lydia pulled up her calculations. 

Stiles couldn't cope with the silence, so he asked, "Is he going to punish me for this?" 

"You kept him from looking like a fool and making a decision that would have hurt a lot of people," Lydia replied. "Why would he punish you for that?" 

"Because I was going through his files without permission" 

"Next time, he'll probably give you permission." 

"Next time? No way. There's never going to be a next time." 

Lydia hadn't looked at him through his whole exchange, keeping her eyes on the numbers that danced across her screen, but she turned to look at him now. 

"I know you hate Derek," she said, "but the food credit program is obviously important to you and you seemed to think that changing it would have been a bad thing. I recall someone saying something about innocent people dying. You're the reason that's not going to happen. You have to decide which is more important to you: standing by your principles and refusing to help Derek, or helping the people you say you care about." 

She turned back to her calculations, apparently done with this conversation, and Stiles was left to just stare into space, thinking. Was she right? If Stiles' words had changed Hale's mind and kept him from implementing ridiculous checks that would have led to people starving, then that was a good thing. Maybe it would be worth helping him out in the future, so long as Stiles could find some way to justify policies that helped people in a way that would make them appeal to a selfish tyrant. 

Stiles tried to distract himself with reading the files he was supposed to have access to, but it was hard to focus on anything when he still couldn't be sure how Hale would react. Despite Lydia's words, Stiles couldn't forget how angry Derek had looked and worry that that anger would end up directed at him. He was still thinking about possible punishments when the library door opened and Danny walked in. Lydia instantly paid him more attention than she ever paid Stiles. 

"Hey, Danny. You need something?" she asked. 

"Him." Danny pointed at Stiles. Stiles' stomach twisted itself in knots, but Danny flashed him a smile and said, "I've come to set you up on the ship's food distribution system." 

"But I've been getting food," Stiles said. 

"You've been getting slop." Danny grabbed a chair and sat down beside Stiles. He took control of the console that Stiles had been using, tapping in authorisation codes and commands faster than Stiles could see, until a new program appeared on the screen. 

"There are five levels," Danny explained. "What you've been eating so far is level one - enough sustenance to keep you healthy but absolutely nothing to make it interesting. You are now authorised for level three. That's the same as most of the crew. You enter allergies over here," he touched one point of the screen to bring up an interface, "and make your meal preferences over here." He touched another point. "The dispensers in the mess give you a meal at random from this list. Well, not quite at random - there are some protocols to stop people getting the same meal twice in a row and things like that - but near enough. If you don't like a meal, you mark it here," he pointed, "and you won't get it again. If you really like a meal, you mark here," he pointed again, "and that meal will come up more often. I've authorised this program on the computer in your room, so you'll be able to adjust your preferences from there." 

Danny handed over the card that Stiles was now supposed to use to get the nicer meals. He had to admit it would be nice not to eat the slop he'd been eating. 

"Does that all make sense?" Danny asked. 

Stiles stared at the screen. "Is this a bribe? I give Hale some information and now he's giving me better food?" 

"I'm just doing what he tells me. I don't know his reasons for it." 

Stiles supposed this meant Lydia was right and Hale wasn't going to punish him for what had happened today. He ought to be glad about this change, about eating decent food, but he couldn't help wondering what his dad would think if he knew that Stiles was being rewarded by their enemy. Stiles had helped Hale today, whether he'd meant to or not. Yes he'd helped other people too, but that didn't make the fact sit any easier. 

***

The next day, Stiles enjoyed his much improved breakfast and was about to head to the gym when Boyd appeared at his side, making Stiles jump. 

"How can you sneak when you're, like, twice the size of me?" Stiles asked. 

Boyd ignored the question and said, "You have to come with me." 

"Have you ever heard of the word 'please'?" Stiles said, but went with him because he was a prisoner and didn't want to know what would happen to him if he didn't. Boyd took him to a small office, with a computer projector set up on the desk, and Derek Hale standing waiting for him. 

The fear was back, twisting in Stiles' insides. Despite the upgrade in food, Stiles couldn't help worrying that there would be something bad coming from yesterday's activities. Now he would find out. 

Hale waved the projector into life, bringing up a list of recording files and folders upon folders of other files. 

"These," Hale pointed at the recordings, "are the statements given by the people who proposed the changes to the reviews of the food credit cases. These," he pointed at the other files, "are everything we pulled off the company computer systems regarding this proposal. If someone so much as mentioned that they were going to have a meeting on the subject in a chat window to a friend, it will be in there. I want to know who knew that the problem wasn't nearly so bad as they were claiming, who knew that the proposed changes would hurt a lot of people, and who knew it would be more expensive than the problem it was meant to fix. More importantly, I want to know who made the decision to propose it anyway." 

Stiles stared between Hale and the projector, not making a move towards the desk. 

"You want me to work for you?" Stiles asked. He thought of his dad's determination to fight no matter what, and tried to channel some of that resolve. "Why would I do that?" 

He expected threats. He expected Hale to talk about all the ways Stiles would be made to suffer if he didn't do what was demanded of him, or perhaps the rewards and bribes he could expect if he agreed. He didn't expect Hale's actual answer. 

"The people who made the presentation you saw obviously care more about their profits than the people the food credit program is supposed to help. I want to see that they have those profits stripped away from them and that they are appropriately punished, but to do that, I need to know who are guilty and who are innocent." 

Stiles could easily picture what would happen if he refused to help. Hale could decide it would be simpler to punish everyone involved in that company, even if some of them weren't involved. Stiles knew about the Hales' penchant for brutal, public punishments. If Stiles helped, he could make sure that only the people who deserved punishment got punished, and it wasn't like Stiles cared about the sort of greedy assholes who would steal from sick and starving families. But he had his own principles to stick to. 

"You're not going to kill them, are you?" Stiles asked. "Because I won't help you if you're planning on killing anyone." 

"I promise, none of them will be put to death for their involvement and punishments will be proportional to their guilt." 

Stiles considered this. He couldn't believe he was considering it, but he remembered what it had been like to be scraping by on the scraps the program provided. He wanted to hurt anyone who had threatened that for the people still in dire need. But whatever Hale said about punishment being proportional, Stiles knew he couldn't trust it. Hale was a tyrant, known for violence. Hell, he'd kidnapped Stiles to use as leverage against his dad, punishing an innocent, or mostly innocent, for his dad's actions. Stiles couldn't rely on Hale to treat anyone fairly. If he agreed and Hale tortured these people, then Stiles would share a part of the blame. 

On the other hand, if he refused and Hale decided to simply torture everyone in the company, that would be partly on Stiles too. Stiles already knew he was going to end up saying yes, however much he wanted to refuse, but he wanted to mitigate the damage. Maybe Stiles could turn this around into something good. 

"You said something about stripping the profits from the people who were behind this," Stiles said. "If I help you figure out who those people were, I want you to give that money to the people on the food credit program as a bonus." 

"What?" 

"It's fair. These people were trying to profit from a system meant to help the sick, so it's poetic justice if their money goes to helping those people." 

"It would be giving people a handout for doing nothing," Hale said, reminding Stiles once again why he hated this man. 

"You were handed a throne for nothing," Stiles said. "Your uncle gave you rule over most of a galaxy because you happened to be born into the right family. What makes you so much more deserving of wealth and power than someone born into poverty on a world where there aren't any opportunities to improve your quality of life?" 

"I work hard in this position." Hale sounded angry and Stiles wondered once more about the likelihood of getting beaten up by him, but Hale didn't make a move towards him. 

When it became apparent that fists weren't going to start flying, Stiles countered with, "You didn't even go through the supporting data reports on that presentation and you can't be bothered to go through this data now or you wouldn't have to recruit me." 

Hale didn't have an answer to that. He glared at Stiles for what felt like a full minute. Then he said. "Alright. Find me the names of those who are responsible and evidence of their guilt. I will strip them of their wealth and split that money across everyone on the program. But no matter how rich they are, that's going to end up being just a couple of credits per person once it’s split across everyone." 

"A couple of credits can make all the difference when you're that close to having nothing." 

Hale didn't argue with that either. He nodded and walked out, leaving Stiles in the office with a mountain of data to work through. Stiles sat down and started digging.


	7. Chapter 7

Derek had to remind himself that Stiles was the son of an anarchist, no doubt raised with subversive ideology his whole life, but when he talked, it was hard not to listen to what he was saying, hard not to find it at least a little bit convincing. Stiles didn't think Derek deserved to rule, didn't think he was better than the people begging for handouts on the food credit program. He couldn't help remembering his uncle's words, another one of the lessons drilled into him to prepare him for the leadership role. 

"There will always be people who want what you have," Peter had warned, "who think they are more deserving of the place you hold than you are." 

But Derek didn't think Peter had been talking about someone like Stiles. Stiles didn't seem think that he was better than Derek, or act like he was full of jealousy and wanted to seize the power Derek had. No, he acted like he thought everyone was better than Derek. He spoke casually of people hating Derek and assumed that Derek didn't care about any of his people. He seemed convinced that Derek was a monster. Was that what everyone thought? Or just a handful of outcast rebels trying to throw the galaxy into chaos and anarchy? 

Derek tried telling himself that Stiles was just bitter, resentful of the success others had, but that didn't quite match with the person he'd seen, the person trying to negotiate despite his utter lack of leverage. Stiles hadn't been trying to keep money for himself, or even arguing for mercy for his father. When he'd tried to gain some leverage over Derek, tiny as it was, he'd used it to try and distribute credits to the sick and poor. Derek told himself that it was just because Stiles wanted to a play a hero, and he tried again to push it from his mind. He had other things to consider. There were plans for infrastructure maintenance on Sparton, one of the inner worlds, and they didn't have the local workforce to perform the necessary labour. Bringing people in temporarily would be expensive, and permanently would mean relocating a large quantity of people, and either way the work force would require housing and food, which would require even more labour. Not to mention that bringing in outsiders would cause unrest in the local communities who were notorious for being insular. If anyone mentioned the word "immigration" there were liable to be protests and riots, and the local governors fed off the fear of outsiders to keep their positions of authority so they were more likely to be stirring protests than quelling them. 

Derek shut himself in his office and brought up the information, able to at least reassure himself that, despite what Stiles might think, he definitely did work hard. He had to review the different plans, weigh up the factors, and probably try and negotiate a compromise between the different groups that would be impacted by whatever decision he made. This time though, he couldn't help wondering if maybe the people who'd given him these plans were lying to him. Was it possible that some of them knew they were proposing terrible options because they would profit from them somehow? Were the governors hoping to take the infrastructure funds for their own purposes? 

Derek went into each proposal and brought up the information he had on the groups who had proposed them, as well as the supporting information behind each proposal document. After so nearly falling for one trap, he wasn't going to be caught again. He would have to go through all this information carefully to make sure he really was choosing the option that would be the most beneficial for the most people. 

***

Stiles was bored again. The boredom had a different feel to it this time because it wasn't that he was lacking something to do, it was that the work he'd been given to do was tedious. There was too much information and most of it was completely irrelevant. He skimmed through conversation trails, just in case there was some mention of the food credit program that was buried under banality and general business, sorting all the communication files into three categories. There were the ones he could completely ignore, the ones that had brief mentions of the program and the company's planned reform, and the ones that were actually about the subject. Those last ones he grouped with the automated meeting transcripts and official notes and documents, ready for more detailed review. 

Even discarding the vast majority of files, there was still far too much for Stiles to go through manually because a company couldn't put forward a proposal to the galactic overlord without months of planning. There had been internal strategy meetings, countless messages exchanged, some meetings between the lower ranking employees who were tasked with pulling the data together, and even a presentation rehearsal meeting. 

He started pulling together a picture of the people involved, throwing up his notes on a large projection, drawing the connections between the various players, and eventually sorting them into tiers. By the time Boyd arrived to take him to lunch, he had fifty people up on his projection, most of them in the lower tier of people he didn't think had any decision-making authority on what had happened. They were the people assigned to do the grunt work or arrange meeting spaces and a lot of them probably hadn't seen the whole picture. The top two tiers were where Stiles needed to focus, and he had a wealth of notes spread out on projections all around the room about them. Boyd stared round in astonishment at the mass of glowing text files and images hanging in the air. 

"How can you make sense of this?" he asked. 

Stiles wasn't sure if he was talking about the sheer volume of information or his approach of throwing anything potentially relevant into the air to be connected with everything else. So Stiles just shrugged, "Slowly. I think I'd rather be tortured." 

Boyd looked at a list of transcript files and nodded. "I don't blame you." 

He took Stiles to the canteen where he could enjoy a non-slop meal and some conversation with the security trio. It was good to take a break; he felt like he'd be seeing file projections whenever he closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the break ended far too soon and Erica marched him back to the office for several more hours of staring at files. 

Derek came to see him later in the day, when Stiles was going through a series of data analytics reports that had been discarded for the final presentation. A number of workers had produced some very thorough statistics on the food credit program that might actually be useful beyond this situation, but one of the board members of the company had decided not to include some of these reports in the presentation's supporting data because they did not, in fact, support the presentation. Stiles moved some files around and brought these reports up in a relatively clear area of the projector space for Derek to see, more than a little smug that he'd worked out from the scraps some of the points these reports showed, like the overall increase in program usage, and the fact that any real cheating on the system was virtually non-existent. People didn't get onto the program unless they needed to be, and in fact this data suggested that there might be several thousand people who needed the program's support but who had been disqualified for technicalities or ill-completed paperwork. 

"There's your problem," Stiles said, pointing to a glowing number. "You need to make it easier for these people to get approval, or to appeal if their claim is denied." 

Derek looked over the reports for a few minutes before he spoke. "Who hid these reports?" 

"That guy." Stiles pointed to an image of a face in the top tier of his organisational ranking. "Adrian Harris. He made the decision not to include this data." 

Derek looked at the picture and nodded. "He was the one who led the presentation meeting." 

"Doesn't surprise me. From what I've found, he's an asshole, and probably a sexual harasser as well." 

Derek raised an eyebrow at that, a silent invitation to explain. 

"I don't have any solid evidence for that," Stiles admitted, "but he's probably just smart enough not to do it where he's getting recorded. There are a few remarks in conversation threads, some patronising comments to female employees, a few jokes to male ones. Nothing solid enough to build a case on but it wouldn't surprise me in the least." 

Stiles didn't have access to the company's HR files so he didn't know if anyone had ever lodged a complaint against Harris, but he was high enough in the organisation that raising a complaint in the morning would be likely to result in a firing by afternoon. People wouldn't risk their jobs, Stiles knew, and Harris would be able to exert pressure to make official comments disappear. He was never going to get arrested for harassment. 

Lying to the overlord however, was something they could build a case around. The fact that he'd hidden reports that contradicted his position was evidence enough, but there were other points, remarks in the meetings. Stiles found a transcript to show Derek. An analyst had pointed out to Harris during the presentation rehearsal meeting that some of the numbers he was using were so misleading that they were essentially lies. Harris' response hung in the air in glowing lettering: 'And if we were giving this presentation to Peter Hale, that would be a problem, but the nephew's not got half the brains his uncle had. He's never going to notice.' 

Stiles watched the way Derek's lips pressed together as he read that, the cold anger on his face. Harris would be made to suffer for that remark, Stiles was sure of it, but he couldn't bring himself to feel the slightest shred of pity for a man who would have knowingly hurt those desperate enough to be on the food credit program, just to increase his own earnings, and whose attitude to anyone who wasn't him seemed to be one of contempt. 

"Who else was involved in the decision?" Derek asked, so Stiles walked him through the names and faces on his second tier of involvement. They hadn't been the ones to make the official decision, but they'd known that Harris was essentially lying to the overlord and they hadn't seemed too concerned about that fact. All of them had bonuses based on the turnover of the company and so would have made a great deal of money personally if Derek had gone along with their proposal. Stiles wasn't sure if Derek really cared about the greed and exploitation, or if he was just acting out of anger at being deceived, but either way Stiles would be glad to see these people punished. And if Derek lived up to his promise, then a lot of people would benefit from these people having their wealth redistributed. 

"Give me a copy of the most relevant files," Derek said, "and your write-up of your interpretation. I will review it." 

Stiles might have expressed doubt about the thoroughness of his review, but he suspected that Derek had learned his lesson about taking things at face value, so Stiles set about trying to turn his chaotic thought processes into something that would make sense to other people. He categorised the files and gave a short summary of what those categories meant and then wrote up several pages explaining what he'd found, complete with pointers to the appropriate evidence in the files, and giving his conclusions. It was a lot less flashy than the presentation Derek had been shown by Harris, but it would be a lot more honest. 

As he finished up his report, Stiles took a moment to reflect on the strangeness of this situation. He considered Derek his enemy and he was here purely to serve as a hostage, but he didn't feel any real guilt over helping him in his matter because it would stop people who deserved to be stopped and it would prevent Derek from making changes that would do real damage to people who needed help more than they needed assessment. Stiles was doing work for the galactic overlord, a tyrant who destroyed lives, but still he felt like he was doing something good.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the punishment for Harris and co, so there is some violence but it isn't described graphically.

The punishment for Harris and his accomplices would be public. Peter had always been very clear on the importance that justice and retribution needed to be seen. Peter had once remarked that it was more important that people see a crime resulting in punishment than that the person being punished was actually guilty of the crime in question. As far as Peter was concerned, guilt was a bonus. Derek wasn't sure he agreed with that point of view and he was glad that in this case he wouldn't have to compromise on the issue. Harris was guilty without doubt of lying to the overlord, which was defined as an act of treason according to the law. Beyond that, he was guilty of attempting to use tax payer money for his own profits without caring that in so doing he would take some of that money from the very people who most needed it. 

Derek made the arrangements for the arrests and the pronouncements about their crimes, making sure that the notices that went out to the media placed as much emphasis on the harm they would have done to the people as they did about the treason. Derek would use this situation to show that he wasn't above mercy, no matter what Stiles thought of him. 

Derek wondered why it mattered to him what Stiles thought of him. He was just a revolutionary brat, and yet Derek cared that he thought him a monster. He wanted to prove Stiles wrong. 

Derek called Boyd to his study to discuss the security arrangements for the punishment. There were the usual matters to discuss, all the precautions that went with a public appearance by the overlord, and Derek was sure that Boyd had those well in hand. As head of Derek's personal security, Boyd would be interacting with the local police and security forces to organise weapon scanners, bomb checks, patrols, and all the usual details to prevent the likes of Stiles' father from taking advantage of the opportunity. This time, however, Derek had an additional request to relay to Boyd. A temporary adjustment would be made to the settings on Stiles' security cuff. 

"You want to take him off the ship?" Boyd sounded incredulous. "After all the effort that went into capturing him, isn't that a risk?" 

"Not a major one. All the forces that are there to make sure I'm not in danger will keep away anyone trying to rescue Stiles, and if they do try to snatch him, his cuff will activate as soon as he gets too far from you." 

"You want me to babysit him?" Boyd didn't sound happy about that. He took seriously his duty to protect Derek and no doubt felt that keeping an eye on Stiles would interfere with that. 

"Take whatever precautions you feel are necessary to keep him from attempting to escape," Derek said. "He's the one who uncovered this crime and systemised the evidence. He should be there to see the result. Besides, he should see that I'm keeping my promise to him." 

That was what mattered to him, more than any pleasure he thought Stiles might get out of seeing Harris and the others punished. He wanted Stiles to see him as honourable. 

***

Stiles was in the gym when Boyd showed up, looking thoroughly disgruntled. 

"Come with me," he ordered. 

"I'm sure we've had a discussion on the subject of 'please'," Stiles said, but he left the walking machine and accompanied Boyd into a new part of the ship. He saw a few more people in the military uniform in this area, most of whom looked at Stiles like he was a bug that had crawled out from under something. Boyd ignored the looks and led Stiles to a small office that had secure lockers along one wall. 

"Sit," Boyd pointed to a chair in front of the office's single desk. 

"Am I expected to sift through more piles of transcription files?" Stiles asked, sitting. 

Boyd ignored the question and went to one of the lockers. He pressed his thumb to a scanner and then entered a code, taking care to cover the panel from Stiles to keep him from seeing the code. Probably fair enough, since Stiles had been trying to peek. The locker turned out to contain more security cuffs like the one around Stiles' wrist, as well as others that looked more complex. Boyd brought some of these items out and carefully closed the locker again. 

"Put your legs out," Boyd ordered. Stiles tucked his legs under the chair where they would be harder to reach. 

"What's this about? Have I done something wrong?" Stiles didn't think he'd broken any of their rules so he didn't understand why they would be bringing out more zap cuffs. 

"You're taking a little trip off ship. It's my job to make sure you come back." 

"Off ship?" 

Stiles had expected to spend the rest of his life on this ship, barring any potential rescue by his dad's forces. Here on the ship, he was protected by the most powerful weapons in the Hale arsenal. Somewhere else, there was a possibility of rebels getting past Derek's forces. Stiles had to take the chance that getting off the ship offered him, even if it meant these extra precautions, because there was a slim possibility that his dad might get to him. 

Stiles stretched out his legs and let Boyd attach a pair of cuffs to his ankles. A length of cord between the cuffs would restrict Stiles' steps, making running impossible and restricting his walking to small steps. Stiles didn't think he'd be able to run away from Boyd on a good day, but with these cuffs around his ankles, it would be impossible. But Boyd wasn't done yet. He attached a larger collar around Stiles' neck. This one had a little box attached to it that pressed uncomfortably against Stiles' throat. 

"This," Boyd tapped the box, "is a small explosive charge. Small enough that someone standing next to you would probably be fine, but plenty enough to destroy your jugular and a good chunk of your throat. Once I activate it, it needs to be deactivated within twelve hours or you die. The only key to deactivate it is here on the ship." 

Any thought of rescue rapidly vanished. Even if Stiles' dad did somehow get through Derek's security, between the electrocuting cuff at his wrist and the bomb at his neck, any attempted escape would just result in Stiles dying. 

Boyd patted Stiles' shoulder in a gesture that felt ridiculously at odds with the fact he'd just attached a bomb to him. 

"We'll get you back here long before it goes off," Boyd said. 

Stiles followed Boyd at a slightly slower pace away from the security office and to a large shuttle bay. A dozen small craft were docked, several of them accepting passengers of security officers and military troops. Boyd led Stiles to another shuttle, which was considerably less cramped than the ones they walked past. In this one, the seats were spaced apart and luxuriously padded. The reason why was obvious: Derek Hale was strapped into one of those seats, reading from a small tablet. 

Erica and Isaac sat on either side of Derek, but other than that the shuttle's passenger compartment was empty. Boyd indicated that Stiles should sit in a seat at the other end of the compartment but Stiles pretended not to notice and shuffled along to the seat opposite Derek. Derek glanced up but focused his attention quickly back on his reading. 

"What's with the field trip?" Stiles asked. "It's got to be pretty important for you to go to all the trouble of strapping a bomb to me." 

Derek looked at Boyd and raised an eyebrow. "A bomb?" 

Boyd shrugged. "You said whatever precautions I felt necessary." 

So Derek hadn't been giving orders about shackles and explosive charges. That was interesting. 

Derek turned his attention back to Stiles and said, "Harris and his associates have been found guilty of treason and attempting to steal credits from vulnerable individuals. We are going to oversee their punishment." 

Stiles felt his stomach lurch, and it had nothing to do with the take-off procedures that were taking place. He was expected to watch the punishment. He'd known there would be a punishment, but he hadn't anticipated that he would be expected to be there. He wasn't sure he was up for it, knowing how Derek's punishments usually went. 

"Can I opt for being locked back in my cell?" Stiles asked. Derek looked surprised. 

"This was your doing. You should see it through." 

By then, the shuttle was already airborne, moving out of the docking bay, so there wasn't anything that could be done. Stiles was confident he wouldn't be allowed to stay here on the shuttle when they landed. 

The journey was thankfully brief and passed mostly in silence, with Derek reading and Stiles fidgeting with the security cuff. He wondered if there would be a broadcast. Would his dad be watching? Would his dad see him? Derek probably wanted that, yet another reminder to the rebel leader that Stiles was his hostage. Stiles' dad would see him in the cuffs, with the bomb collar at his throat, and know that rescuing him was hopeless. Stiles hadn't thought it possible to hate Derek more, but right then, he did. 

They landed on a large open field, around which security fences and energy shields had been set up. They walked through to another field, flanked by local security troops, to where a large platform had been erected before a waiting crowd. Stiles recognised the people on the platform from the files he'd examined, Harris in the middle, and all those Stiles had identified as second-tier participants except one, the woman who'd been the first to confess. Stiles guessed she was being granted mercy, or at least the dignity of a private punishment, in exchange for having turned against Harris. 

Harris and his cronies were all kneeling, ankles cuffed to the platform and hands cuffed in front of them, secured between their knees by a cord similar to the one between Stiles' ankles. From the pale, drawn faces, Stiles guessed that their imprisonment had been less pleasant than his own. 

The crowd started cheering as Derek walked onto the platform, but Stiles got the impression the people were more scared than excited. That might have been him projecting his own feelings on them though, as he waited for whatever horror Derek had in store. 

As Derek moved towards the front of the platform, Boyd pulled Stiles to a back corner, where he could see everything but wouldn't be caught in the background of any close-up shots of Derek. Projectors lit up, broadcasting Derek's face over the crowd so that those at the back would see as well as those at the front, his voice booming out over a speaker system. 

"My people," Derek said, "those before you today have been found guilty of two crimes, that of treason for attempting to deceive me, and that of attempting to steal from people already sick and suffering. They attempted to change the food credit program in such a way as to bring them great profit, profit which would have come from tax payer funds and out of the pockets of the very people the food credit program is designed to help. They attempted to steal food from some of the most vulnerable people in my domain and for that they will be punished." 

A cheer went up from the crowd and Stiles felt his stomach lurch again. Whatever was about to happen was as much his doing as Derek's. He was responsible. He tried to remind himself how much he hated Harris, but it was hard to hold that in mind seeing him right now, looking like he might pass out from fear in front of the watching masses. 

"For their greed," Derek continued, "they will have their assets stripped. The one who orchestrated this scheme will be left with nothing. Those who assisted him will be left with assets totalling thirty seven thousand credits, and one." 

Derek smiled coldly at that last word and Stiles knew why he'd come up with that number. Thirty seven thousand credits was the upper limit on the food credit program. No one who had more than that could be eligible to receive help from the program, no matter their other circumstances. Derek had just ensured that these people wouldn't be able to claim assistance on the program they'd tried to manipulate. 

"These confiscated assets," Derek said, "will be liquidated and the funds pooled. These funds will be shared across the current recipients of the food credit program as a bonus, as restitution for the damages that these people would have caused." 

He'd actually done it. He'd kept his promise. Hope began to push aside the fear inside Stiles. Derek was living up to his word and making sure that the people on the food credit program would get something extra. It might only mean a few more mouthfuls of food each, but Stiles knew how much such a small thing could mean to those on the brink of nothing. Stiles dared to hope that maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. But Derek hadn't finished speaking. 

"In addition to the stripping of assets, these criminals will pay in pain for the pain they attempted to cause. Fifty lashes for those who were accomplices in this crime. One hundred for the instigator. As well, Adrian Harris will face an appropriate punishment for lying to his overlord. His tongue will be removed." 

Derek stepped back and signalled for a security officer to come forward holding a long whip looped in his right hand. As the man shook out the whip, Stiles turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to see the pain he'd caused. He couldn't shut his ears though as the whip cracked through the air and the first of the prisoners started screaming. Stiles heard every cry of pain. The count hadn't reached the first fifty lashes when Stiles dropped to his knees and vomited over the back of the platform.


	9. Interlude 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a real chapter, but let's check in on Papa Stilinski.

Noah Stilinski sat in the reclaimed storage room that was currently serving as his office, going over the intelligence they had on the security systems on Hale's flagship. The information they had wasn't very much and it was largely out of date, gathered the last time they'd managed to bribe a contractor to steal schematics for the ship. Their intelligence didn't include anything on recent upgrades to the system or on the deployment of personnel, let alone codes or overrides for the systems. 

The information did little except to make it clear how difficult any attempted rescue of Stiles would be. Noah didn't even know where in the ship he was being held, since there were two separate security containment areas as well as the possibility that Hale might have had Stiles confined in one of the crew quarters as a ploy to hide him from any rescue party. 

Noah hadn't seen this coming. For all his plans, for all their efforts and intelligence gathering, he had never guessed that Hale would use his son against him. Noah didn't see a way to solve this problem, to get Stiles after from Hale safe and whole. He had considered surrendering himself, offering his own capture for Stiles' release, but this current stalemate was probably better for Hale because Noah was crippled, unable to commit his forces to an attack while Stiles was on the line. If they did an exchange, Hale would no doubt execute Noah in the most painful way possible, but there would be nothing to hold back the rebels from the next attack. He couldn't be sure Hale would accept an offer of exchange, and even if he did, there was no guarantee he would actually let Stiles go. The stalemate might be the only thing keeping Stiles alive right now. 

All Noah could do was hope that Hale would keep from hurting Stiles too badly for the sake of leverage. The video files Hale had transmitted to the rebels had shown Stiles alive and unharmed, so there was still that trace of hope to hold to, but it felt smaller with each day that passed. 

The door opened wildly, slamming into the wall with a crash that made Noah jumped. He had his gun half drawn before he recognised the man in front of him as Parrish, one of his lieutenants. 

"Turn on the punishment broadcast," Parrish said. 

Noah reached for the controls of his computer to do just that. The rebels always watched Hale's official broadcasts, especially those that took place away from his ship, in case they gave some clue for how to get through his security, or some other information they could use, but Noah hadn't been able to face whatever sham Hale considered justice today. 

He brought up the feed as Hale moved to the front of a platform with bound prisoners on either side, but Noah's eyes were drawn to a figure behind Hale and off to one side. Stiles stood at the back of the platform, beside a man in security officer uniform, cuffs on his own limbs and what Noah recognised at once as a timer collar around his neck. Was Stiles to be part of this punishment? Had he done or said something to incur Hale's wrath? Noah stared at the projected image with dread growing each passing moment, imagining the pain he was about to witness being done to his son. 

Noah barely heard Hale's words. The broadcast focused on Hale's face as he gave some speech about whatever these people had done to offend him, but Noah kept seeing Stiles in his mind's eye, seeing how pale and frightened he'd looked. 

Hale finished talking and the broadcast image flipped back to the wide shot of the platform as some officer prepared a whip. At least Stiles hadn't been pulled into the line of prisoners, though he looked like he might faint and had his face turned away from the punishment. The focus on the broadcast was on the falling whip and the man screaming in pain, but Noah's eyes were on the image of Stiles in the background as he turned away. The security officer behind him turned at the movement and Noah expected him to lash out in some way to keep Stiles in position, but what happened was almost worse. Stiles dropped to his knees at the back of the platform. He was mostly hidden behind the other people on the platform, but it was clear to Noah what Stiles was doing: he was throwing up. 

Noah adjusted his projection image, zooming in on Stiles even as the punishment moved on down the line. Stiles didn't even attempt to regain his feet; he stayed hunched forward over his knees, curled in on himself like a foetus, his back to the pain being dealt. 

Noah heard those screams of pain and could only imagine how much worse it must be to be right there where it was happening. He wished he could reach into that projected image and touch Stiles, offer him some comfort. But to Noah's astonishment, that hand of comfort came from the figures beside him. Derek Hale had moved back to the group at the rear of the platform and he turned to the security officer beside Stiles, saying something that wasn't picked up by the broadcast audio over the sound of the whip and the screaming. The security officer nodded and crouched beside Stiles, placing a hand on his back in a gesture that was comforting rather than restraining. He said something to Stiles and offered him a hand to help him up. 

Stiles stood and clung to the officer as the pair of them moved off the platform and out of the broadcast image. 

Later, Noah got the analysis of the faces and lip movements, clear enough for them to work out what had been said. Hale's words had been a short order, "Take him back to the shuttle." 

The officer had said, "Let's get you out of here," and then as he let Stiles away, "It's OK." 

It wasn't much, but the words and the way he'd said them had shown more kindness that Noah would have expected. It was surprising, more so even than the words of the speech, which Noah reviewed later once he could concentrate on them, in which Derek had promised to give funds to the people on the food credit program and spoke of punishing people for attempting to steal from the vulnerable as though he actually cared. This didn't match up to Hale's usual patterns and Noah didn't know what to make of it.


	10. Chapter 9

Stiles sat in the shuttle, hands shaking and mouth tasting of bile. His throat burned from all the vomiting. 

Boyd handed him a container of water and then sat down beside him. Stiles sipped, but the water didn't do much to hide the taste or ease the burning. Stiles wiped his eyes, which were still watering from throwing up. He wondered what Boyd thought of him for reacting the way he did. He wished he hadn't been broadcast to half the galaxy during that embarrassing scene. What had been the point of that? To humiliate him? Or as a warning not to get out of line? At least Derek had proof that his punishments were truly horrifying so he would probably be in a good mood about that. 

Stiles looked across at Boyd and a thought occurred. "Aren't you meant to stay beside Derek at all times while he's out in public?" 

Stiles hadn't been part of the rebellion in any real way because his dad had wanted to keep him safe, but he'd eavesdropped on enough conversations and planning meetings to know that when a Hale stepped off their ship, they were always heavily guarded. As not just one of his personal guards but the leader of the trio, that responsibility fell to Boyd more than the local forces. 

Boyd stiffened. "I am." 

"Shouldn't you be going back to guard him then?" 

"If I go back, your cuff will activate and electrocute you," Boyd pointed out. Stiles knew better than suggest he deactivate it. Even a mention of the idea would probably lead to Boyd deciding Stiles' whole reaction was part of an escape attempt and Stiles didn't want to imagine what the punishment for that would be. He definitely didn't want to ask why Boyd wasn't dragging Stiles back there because he didn't want to give the man the idea. He wanted to avoid being anywhere near that gruesome display. So he sat there and sipped his water and waited for it to be over. 

"I'm surprised you reacted so strongly," Boyd said. "Aren't you supposed to be a rebel? You must have seen fighting." 

"Violence and I have never been on particularly close terms," Stiles said. "Besides, there's a difference between a fight and... that." 

He didn't like any of those people. He would go so far as to say that he hated Harris. But hating the man didn't mean he wanted to see him brutalised. Derek was going to have his tongue plucked out? That was barbaric. That was like something out of history. Being physically ill was the only right way to react to something that awful, in Stiles' opinion. 

It wasn't long before Derek returned to the shuttle, Erica and Isaac flanking him as usual. Stiles didn't look at any of them as they reclaimed their seats. He kept his eyes on the floor and sipped his water, trying to erase the taste of his guilt. He'd known that Derek would punish those people when he'd handed over the files. He might as well have swung the whip himself. 

The shuttle door closed and preparations for takeoff began, and still Stiles didn't look up. 

"I thought you would want to see Harris punished," Derek said. 

"How could anyone enjoy that?" Stiles asked, then he added with disdain in his voice, "Unless they're a monster like you." 

He looked up them, looking his gaze with Derek's and trying to pour all the hate he felt into his glare. 

"They were criminals," Derek said. 

"Yes. They were criminals. They were greedy, horrible people and, yeah, Harris was a horrible waste of oxygen, but they were still human beings. They still deserved being shown some humanity." 

"After today, they will be free, able to carry on with their lives. Even Harris will be able to live and work and be part of society, punished and without the power he used to have, but still a person. I showed them mercy, Stiles." 

"Mercy? You don't even know what that word means." 

***

Derek didn't know how to deal with the weight of Stiles' hate, the strength of his reaction against what Derek had done. Derek didn't know what else he could have done differently. The crime had needed to be punished and people had needed to see that treason and theft were unacceptable. Was Derek supposed to have let them get away with it? In what perfect galaxy would that have made sense? Punishment was necessary to keep order and to prevent further crimes. Without the punishment, other people would try to do what Harris tried, and sparing Harris would have left him with the power and authority to exploit others for his greed. The galaxy was a better place for what he had done. 

Derek didn't think he'd done anything wrong. If anything, Peter would have criticised him for being too soft on them. Yet still Derek felt a sense of shame, as though he'd made some mistake. The only mistake he could see was in making Stiles witness the punishment and he wouldn't make that mistake again. 

He'd known Stiles hated him; Stiles had made that perfectly clear from the first moment. It was understandable, given his upbringing, and Derek had accepted it. But seeing the look in Stiles' eyes after the punishment was somehow different from seeing the way he'd looked at his capture mainly because Derek hadn't expected his actions to result in hate. He remembered the words Stiles had said in the library when they'd gone over the data for the food credit program. Stiles had taken it for granted that people hated Derek. Derek had always thought that the hate was confined to a few radical dissidents, the jealous and the perpetually dissatisfied. He'd assumed hate was the exception to the norm. But was Stiles right? Did people hate Derek? 

The thought didn't sit comfortably with Derek and it lingered, returning to his mind again and again over the next few days. Yes, he was firm, but it was a necessity in his position. He'd always done his best to try and be fair to the people he ruled, always looked for the best solution to the problems that crossed his desk. He'd always thought he was a good ruler. He'd been kinder than Peter, that was for sure. Derek felt a strange determination to prove Stiles wrong, to show that his hatred was ill-founded, and a part of him was willing to admit that a part of this impulse came from a sense of guilt for accidentally hurting Stiles at the punishment display. 

He wanted to do something for Stiles, to offer him some sort of amends, but he knew that anything he offered to make Stiles' imprisonment more pleasant would probably be met with further scorn or treated with suspicion. An apology wouldn't be enough either. 

Perhaps he could make amends and demonstrate his kindness as a ruler in one act. Derek messaged Isaac to find Stiles and bring him to the office he'd used before. Derek went there to get things ready, loading a computer with the reports on the food credit program that Stiles had uncovered during his investigation as well as the financial data from Derek's own systems and a few background files he thought would be useful. 

Stiles walked in as Derek was finishing and stood there, arms folded, glaring. Derek brought up the report of individual approvals for the program and Stiles' glare turned into a puzzled frown. 

"You told me," Derek said, "that you thought I should make it easier for people to apply for the program and get approved. You seemed quite passionate about the whole thing." 

"People care a lot about something when it kept them alive when they were teetering on the brink of starvation." 

"You have the same data that Harris had. I want you to put together a proposal of your own." 

"What? Are you serious?" 

"Put together a proposal, backed up by the facts, of what you would do to reform the food credit program. I'm not promising I'll do it, but you've earned the right to be heard on this subject. If you need more information, feel free to use the library and ask Lydia if you need to access something you don't have authorisation for - she can decide if you should be allowed that data." 

"You do realise that I don't work for you, right?" Stiles asked. 

"Does that mean you don't want the opportunity to propose a reform?" 

"Of course I'm going to do it. I just want you to know that I'm doing it for the thousands of people who desperately need this program. I'm not doing it for you." 

"Naturally." 

Derek handed the computer to Stiles and started to leave. 

"How long have I got?" Stiles asked. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Harris had months to pull his presentation together. When do you want mine? By the end of the day? Tomorrow? Next week?" 

"Take a week. I won't expect fancy graphics." Derek knew that a week wasn't that long, but he expected Stiles to more than be capable of meeting the challenge. He wouldn't have to do the background analytics that Harris' company had needed to do, and he'd figured out the problems in Harris's proposal in less than an hour. Besides, Derek suspected that Stiles already had plenty of opinions on what was needed. He could probably spout off a rough draft here and now without any sort of preparation at all. 

Derek started to leave again. 

"Derek," Stiles said, "I mean, Overlord Hale..." Stiles looked flustered at having used his first name, but pressed on. "Will you promise that you'll look at the proposal carefully? You won't just dismiss it if it's not the sort of ideas you're used to seeing." 

There was something awkward about Stiles' tone, more nervous than when he'd thought Derek was likely to torture him. It was endearing how much he cared about this, how much he wanted to be heard. Derek found himself smiling. 

"Stiles, if I'd gone with the sort of ideas I'm used to seeing, I would have given Harris authorisation to steal food out of the mouths of starving families. I expect you to show me something different. I can't promise I'll do it, but I do promise to consider it carefully." 

Stiles stood a little straighter. He opened his mouth and Derek expected to hear a "thank you," but then Stiles closed his mouth again, shutting any show of gratitude inside. He gave a nod. 

"You can message Boyd on your computer if you need someone to escort you to the library or anywhere else," Derek said, and he left Stiles to it. Isaac followed him out of the room. He hadn't said a word during the exchange with Stiles, just faded into the background like a bodyguard should, but now Derek looked at him. 

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Derek asked. 

"If he's rewriting policies for you, he'll have less time to cause trouble, and I think he has been bored." 

Derek thought that Isaac was going to leave it at that, but after a moment he added, "A lot of the people you deal with on a regular basis are so rich they can't even imagine how things are for the majority of the population. It can't hurt for you to get some different perspectives on things." 

Derek remembered how he and Isaac had met. He'd picked Isaac to join his security team on a whim after wandering away from his official escort on an inspection of a military training camp. Isaac's father had been a fitness coach at the camp and the things he'd been saying to Isaac had been things no father ought to say. Derek had asked for Isaac's records and seen a history of injuries that were beyond the normal level of bruises and bangs that occurred at the camp and he'd offered Isaac a path away from his father. He'd changed so much from the nervous boy he'd been then that Derek often forgot where Isaac came from, that he'd been born on a world where the only real options for the lower classes were the factories, the military, or starvation. 

"Isaac, do you think I'm a good overlord?" 

Derek knew that most of the people on this ship would answer yes, no matter their real opinions on the subject. But he trusted Isaac to guard him and he hoped he could trust Isaac to be honest too. Isaac considered the question and it didn't look like he was just trying to find a way to lie tactfully. 

"I think you try to be," Isaac said, "and that's a hell of a lot more than your uncle ever did."


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an evil cliffhanger. :)

Stiles was having a surprising amount of fun. This project didn't involve nearly so much tedious trawling through communication logs as the last one, so Stiles actually got to read research projects and articles that were interesting. He started with just throwing ideas up on projections but then he started to dig into details. Derek would want numbers, so Stiles dove into calculations and looked up the figures that would support his proposed changes. 

He started with some simple changes to the program, like allowing people to buy hygiene supplies. He actually took the report, the real report that hadn't been included in Harris' proposal, of the list ways people had cheated the system, and proposed that they could cut fraud in half just by making the top three things on the list no longer against the rules. If people could team up with a neighbour to get better value, that didn't hurt anyone. If they could buy soap and disinfectant, that was a good thing, and if they could buy pre-cooked food it would be a life-saver for people who were homeless or didn't live somewhere with cooking equipment. From there, Stiles made other suggested changes that would require more effort to implement, like providing subsidies on fresh food, so people wouldn't be forced to subsist on protein paste and powdered food mix, which was considerably cheaper but which was only meant to supplement a diet, not make it up entirely. If the government could provide discounts on fresh foods for people on the program, then they would be able to get genuine fruit and vegetables. 

Stiles started a detour into the problem of food deserts and remote regions where people relied on whatever was shipped in by others, and were forced to pay whatever extortionate prices were charged, like the asteroid miners in the Gamolla sector who could be expected to pay a hundred credits for a tin of beans. Stiles started a section of his proposal about enforcing price caps on critical food staples, but then he realised he was going off topic. He shifted that all to one side to go in an appendix and got back to the main subject. 

The main thing was to increase the amounts of credits people got, but he couldn't just say "put the amount up." He needed numbers, backed up by facts. So he poured over economic data that Lydia gave him access to, making charts and doing calculations to show the increase of food prices compared to the credit program's allowance. To make the numbers seem more real, he put together some weekly meal plans as examples based on the buying power of the credits on different planets. In his proposal, he put forward three options: an absolute bare minimal increase that was urgently required, a best case scenario of what would be ideal, and then a middle ground option between the two. He'd read a book on psychology once that suggested the majority of people would choose a middle option in most circumstances, so Stiles hoped that presenting his numbers this way would keep Derek from just going with the bare minimum. 

He made some other suggestions, with the numbers to back them up, like increasing the threshold of eligibility for families with children. 

The biggest change, which he saved for the end of his list because he suspected it would be ruled out without so much as a glance, was to expand the food credit program to other worlds. At the moment, the program was a legacy of an older government that had been conquered by Derek's great great grandfather. It had lingered because the worlds had some leeway to self-government, albeit with the overlord having the ability to overrule or veto decisions those local governments put in place. The food credit program existed on Beacon and half a dozen other planets and moons, along with the space stations that fell within that territory, but there were thousands upon thousands of worlds that would benefit from having the program, millions of innocent people who were suffering and struggling whose lives would be transformed by receiving this assistance. So Stiles proposed that Derek should apply this program to every inhabited world within the empire. 

Stiles knew that such a proposal would be met with scepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, so then he started arguing with himself. 

He tried to picture all the objections Derek would have, all the excuses that could be given for why Stiles' plan could never be implemented, and then he started addressing them one by one. This section of his proposal ended up being about as long as all the rest of it put together, but it was surprisingly fun to pull the information together. After all, Stiles enjoyed pointing out when people were wrong, and in this case he got to do it the ruler of half the galaxy, complete with line charts and citations. 

More than once, as Stiles was putting his proposal together, he didn't want to be interrupted by such mundane issues as food and sleeping, so when one of the security trio showed up to take him for meals, he would shoo them away. Or at least attempt to; Boyd in particular was resistant to shooing and at one point he physically lifted Stiles from the chair to make him go get food. 

The hardest part was bringing his proposal down to a reasonable length, since he was pretty sure Derek wouldn't want an hour-long detour into principles of economics. Stiles pushed quite a lot of his more tangential segments into appendices and files of supporting data. In the end, he had something which was reasonably coherent, which put across the key points of reform he wanted Derek to make, and which provided clear bullet points of the benefits of the program and the reasons why those reforms were necessary. He added some real world stories in there to make the proposal have more emotional impact, assuming Derek had emotions, and then he thought he was ready to go, a whole day ahead of his deadline. 

Stiles wasn't sure what to do about this, so he just messaged Boyd and said he was done, expecting to be taken back to his room. If he stayed here with the computer, he would keep prodding and poking and his presentation and end up adding stuff or moving something so that the coherent flow he'd managed to achieve would be destroyed. He would be tempted to sneak in one little bit of additional information and make the whole thing weaker. So it was better to be forced to leave it alone. 

It wasn't Boyd who showed up in the little office but Derek. Isaac was with him as his bodyguard but he didn't seem about to walk Stiles back to his room. He just took up a position in the corner where he could be easily ignored. 

"Walk me through your proposal," Derek said. 

"I thought you would just read it," Stiles said. 

"I will read it, but I want you to walk me through it first. I may have questions." 

Stiles felt a little flustered, not expecting this and worried he would ruin everything being rambling on about something and boring Derek. He tried to get under control and brought up the opening of his proposal. Once he started talking, things seemed to go alright. He did start rambling a little bit at a couple of points, but he caught himself and got back on track. He laid out the major problems with the current system, then went into his proposed solutions, complete with the summary of the supporting evidence. He watched Derek start frowning as Stiles got into the numbers. 

"This seems like it will cost at least as much as Harris's solution," he said. Stiles hadn't even got to the part about rolling the program out across the galaxy, so he didn't want to think what Derek would make of that cost. He pushed the thought aside for a moment. 

"Ah." Stiles raised a finger, grinning slightly that he'd predicted this direction of conversation. "If you would bear with me a moment, I will be addressing the cost issue very shortly." 

Sure enough, a couple of display changes later, after Stiles talked about different options and the minimum required change versus the ideal reform, Stiles' presentation posed the question _How much will all this cost?_ Stiles broke down the numbers for his three proposed options, clearly explaining what the costs associated with each aspect of change would be. Stiles was a lot clearer than Harris had been anywhere in his presentation, so he hoped that would make Derek more inclined to accept these numbers as fact. The estimate for the cheap option was significantly lower than the number Stiles had ball-parked for Harris' plan, but the second number was a tiny bit higher, and the third was higher by a significant margin. 

"But," Stiles pressed on, before Derek could focus in on those numbers too much and through the whole plan out of an airlock, "you have to consider the economic impact as a whole." He switch to his next display and started talking about the sale of taxable goods, and the stimulation of local food retailers, and the impact on jobs at a local level and what that meant in terms of taxable income. Stiles including some comparison charts on tax levels about how it was much better for the economy as a whole to have money paid into retailers than to have that same money being paid to companies like Harris'. 

"Not that all the retailers will be small, local businesses," Stiles was forced to admit, because otherwise that would be the objection this whole concept could be ignored on, "and you have the same problem with the massive corporations that you'd have with Harris, but I propose an idea that would more than fund these reforms and probably a whole lot more besides." 

Stiles switched to the next display, which laid out the key points of a proposed change to business tax that would increase on business profits over key thresholds, with the tax level steeply increasing as profit levels got higher. Derek raised an eyebrow. 

"I have a lot more information on this in the appendix and supporting files," Stiles said, "because it's a little bit off track, but this would have some huge improvements for the economy because it would encourage the bigger companies to funnel more of their profits into the business - hiring more people, paying higher wages, or just buying more stuff from other businesses. You would need to make sure that owners don't just pay themselves huge bonuses and claim that counts as wages not profit, but I have some ideas on that in the appendix." Stiles had gone into quite a lot of detail in the appendix, proposing that the tax law included clauses about how bonuses could only be excluded from counting towards the profit threshold for this tax if a certain percentage of the bonus was paid to staff below board level, meaning that owners would have to pay bonuses to other staff if they wanted a bonus of their own. Stiles hadn't fleshed the numbers out in as much detail for that proposal because it was getting further and further away from the point he was supposed to be proposing. 

Stiles finished up his presentation with a few bits on how having a population of people who were fed was a good thing both in terms of their usefulness to the economy and in terms of making people less inclined to join a revolution and try to overthrow Derek. Stiles thought that angle would have more impact than trying to explain to an oppressive dictator that he shouldn't starve people because starving people was bad. 

Stiles stood for a minute, while Derek stared at the final image of the presentation, getting more and more nervous. Had he made sense? Had he made the facts clear enough? Had he been too emotional? Had he not been emotional enough? Maybe he should have played up the personal stories more, but was Derek capable of enough empathy for that approach to work? Stiles chewed his lip and wondered whether all his work would make any change whatsoever. 

"Go back to the cost breakdown again," Derek said. 

Stiles moved the presentation back, though he hated to do it. He'd had to include the costs because otherwise Derek would have assumed he was hiding something, the way Harris had attempted, but he knew that was what would sink this whole endeavour. Stiles just hoped that the minimal improvement option would be cheap enough for Derek to consider it. Stiles hadn't included the costs of doing nothing to improve the program, except in a file in the appendix. That was the worst outcome Stiles feared, that Derek would decide it was cheaper not to change anything, or to scrap the program altogether. 

"Thank you," Derek said, after what felt like ten minutes of staring at the numbers without saying anything. "I will review your proposal and the supporting data." 

He summoned Erica, who appeared a moment later to take Stiles back to his room. 

***

Derek stared at the numbers still projected into the air. The costs were significant, especially for the reform Stiles had pointed to as ideal, rolling out the program to worlds that currently didn't have it, which would cost nearly three hundred times as much as the program in its current form. But the costs would be spread across the worlds and could come out of their local budgets. Considered at that level, even that highest cost was less than it would cost to equip a single ship of the fleet. They were less than was paid for infrastructure or for the annual maintenance of the palace on Bessum, which Derek hardly ever went to because it was harder to secure than his ship and because being there reminded him too much of the attack that had killed so many of his family. He was sure that if he gave the budget figures to Lydia she could work her mathematical magic and shift things around so that enough money could be found by taking from other areas amounts so proportional small they would hardly be missed. These changes were feasible and if Stiles was right about the economics of it, then the changes would all but pay for themselves by the next tax cycle, even without going into the radical economic changes Stiles had proposed. 

A part of Derek wondered if Stiles had thrown in that bit about tax reform as a distraction to make the rest of his proposal seem more reasonable in comparison, but he suspected Stiles genuinely did believe such a reform was a good idea. 

Derek looked at Isaac, who had been watching the whole thing unobtrusively. 

"What do you think?" 

"I don't know if Stiles is right about all the economic impact stuff," Isaac answered, "but he's right about one thing; the amount of money people are getting on the program is not enough to feed anyone, even in places where food is cheap. You have to increase the payment amounts." 

"I have to, do I?" Derek said, amused that Isaac could say it in such a way as to make it sound almost like an order. 

Isaac looked him in the eye and said, "Yes." 

Derek wasn't going to agree to the proposal just because his bodyguard liked the idea, or because Stiles had seemed so sincere. He would have to go through the supporting data thoroughly, and probably give the economic sections to Lydia to get her input. Still, Derek had been left as convinced by Stiles' presentation as he'd ever been by Harris' and he was significantly more confident that Stiles wasn't lying through his teeth for personal gain. 

At the very least, Derek knew he would be accepting one of the three proposals. He had learned enough from his experience with Harris though that he would take his time before making a final decision on which one. He waved his hand at the computer controls to access the list of supporting files and settled himself in for some careful reading. 

He had barely begun when his comms buzzed at him. He brought up the call for his military liaison. 

"Sir," she said, talking quickly, "we have received a report from the fleet. A rebel contingent just attacked a resupply ship heading for our transfer station in Ganymar Sector. We believe the rebels acquired a large quantity of the cargo, including food, medical supplies, ammunition, and small arms, before they destroyed the ship." 

"Any casualties?" Derek asked. 

"Three, sir. The captain of the resupply ship and two of the crew." 

Derek wanted to know what had happened to the escort ships that were supposed to accompany all resupply ships, but he knew he would get a full report with that information, as well as a more detailed list of what they thought the rebels had managed to steal. But Derek had another thought that was dominating his mind; he had publicly promised to punish Stiles should Stilinski's rebels attack. More than that, he'd promised to cut a piece off Stiles for any person that the rebels killed. Derek couldn't go back on those statements or he would be seen as weak. If his threats were shown to be bluffs, it would undermine everything he had worked for his entire life, everything Peter had prepared him for. Derek had no choice but to follow through with his threats. 

But the thought of hurting Stiles was repulsive to him. It seemed wrong, especially after Stiles had put all this effort into helping him. Derek couldn't help feeling that either choice was the wrong one.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people guessed in comments that I might take this approach. :)

Stiles wasn't particularly encouraged to be taken back to the room where he'd been recorded for his dad, but he hoped his dad would be reassured to see him still whole and healthy. Derek was in the room when Erica and Boyd marched Stiles inside, and Danny was tending to the recording as before, but he wasn't looking directly at Stiles. Stiles expected things to proceed as they had last time, with an order to strip, but Derek just looked at Danny and said, "Start the recording," while Stiles was fully clothed. Stiles wondered if he ought to say something. He knew that any message to his dad to keep rebelling would be edited out, but there ought to be something he could say that Derek would allow to remain. 

"I promised," Derek said, "that if your father refrained from any rebellious activity, you would be treated fairly. Have I lived up to that?" 

He address Stiles directly. Stiles decided it was better to reassure his no doubt terrified father even if that meant going along with Derek's plan. Stiles shrugged and said, "Now that I'm not being fed slop, yeah. I've got a bed and exercise and books to read. Not a whole lot of freedom or company, but no actual torture." His lukewarm assessment was the best Stiles was willing to offer. 

"I have kept my promise about treating you well while your father behaved. Now I must keep the other half of that promise." 

"What?" Stiles backed away a step, but Boyd and Erica were between him and the door. Their hands closed around his arms and they hauled him towards the table and its restraints. 

"No! Stop!" Stiles writhed and struggled within their grips, but their fingers dug in with bruising force and wouldn't yield. He was lifted into the air and dumped down onto the table, the metal hard and cold through his thin clothes. He tried to break Erica's grip, tried to resist the pressure, but he was pushed down against the table and a metal band snapped closed around his waist. As the pair forced him into position, more bands snapped closed, making fighting even more futile, but still Stiles writhed and kicked and struggled. He managed to get one good kick at Boyd's stomach before his legs were locked in place and then Erica pushed his head down so that the last of the restraints snapped closed around his neck, so that anymore struggling would result in him choking himself. 

Lying back on the table, Stiles could see another dark circle of a recording lens in the ceiling right above him. His father would be shown exactly what happened to him. Stiles turned to Derek and tried one last time. "Please, don't do this. You don't have to do this." 

"I have to keep my promises, Stiles. I promised you would be punished if your father launched another attack. I promised that for every life taken, I would cut off a part of you. Three of my officers were killed in the rebel attack, so you will lose three parts of your body." 

Derek walked slowly up to the table, holding a knife. 

"The question is," Derek said, "which parts?" 

He held the knife over Stiles' face, right in his eye line, and Stiles thought of Harris and the punishment of having his tongue removed. Stiles imagined losing the ability to speak, having that stolen from him, and couldn't imagine anything worse. Then Derek moved the knife slowly down his body, pausing over Stiles' genitals. Three body parts, Derek had said. He had lots of options that would leave Stiles alive and effective as a hostage. Even as Derek continued to move down Stiles' body, down to his toes, Stiles wondered how much it would hurt to have that knife slice off his balls. 

"The other question," Derek continued, "is whether it would be a worse punishment for your father to have to see this, or to have to imagine it, to wonder about it. Would it be worse for him to know what's been cut off, or to have to guess? I've been told that uncertainty can be a terrible thing." 

As he spoke, he brought the knife back up Stiles' body to his head, and when he got there turned to Danny and told him to stop the recording. Stiles was almost grateful that Derek had gone for this option, that his dad wouldn't have to see Stiles hurt, to hear his screams. Stiles tried to cling to that thought, to the knowledge that no matter how bad this got, his dad wouldn't have to see. Even as his terror rose to panic, he could cling to that as comfort. 

Derek brought the knife down, close to the side of Stiles' head. Stiles closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain, for the feeling of that knife slicing off his ear. But he just felt Derek's fingers against his scalp. A moment later they were gone and Derek said, "There. Look. I think that's three." 

Stiles risked opening his eyes. Derek's hand was in front of Stiles' face and for a moment Stiles couldn't work out what Derek was talking about. Then it became clear. There were three hairs held between finger and thumb. Fury rose up to replace the terror. All that talk about losing body parts, and Derek had simply cut his hair? No wonder Derek had stopped the recording. Stiles' father was sure to be imagining some hideous torture and it had all been this farce, this mockery. Stiles somehow hated Derek more for this lie than he would have hated him for the torture, because his father was out there and he would have no way to know that the torture was a sham. 

"Let him up," Derek ordered and Boyd stepped up to the side of the table, pressing a switch. The restraints opened all at once and Stiles launched himself off the table. He flung himself at Derek and swung a punch at his face. 

Derek seemed more surprised than hurt as Stiles' fist struck the side of his jaw. He stared at Stiles like he wasn't sure where this had come from and Erica surged forward to seize Stiles' arms and haul him back. Derek brought his hand up to his jaw but his expression was more puzzlement than anything else. Stiles on the other hand felt the pain shooting through his knuckles. How was it that he was hurt more than the person he'd hit? How did Derek had such a hard jaw? 

"Bastard," Stiles snarled. 

"Your father's rebels attacked one of my ships," Derek said. "Three people are dead." 

"And how many people died because of your policies? How many people have you crushed underfoot to keep your power? How many people have you hurt?" 

"I didn't hurt you," Derek said, sounding as though he really expected to be given some credit for that. 

"You don't get cookies for not torturing people! That's not some huge achievement. It's a basic standard of decency that most people manage to achieve every day of their lives." Stiles glared at him and added, "You hurt my dad." 

"He attacked, even knowing what I said I would do to you. You should be angry at him. He forced my hand." 

"No one forced you to kidnap me. No one forced you to act like an evil, vicious despot so that people have to fight you. If you think anyone's forced you to do anything, you've missed the point of being an all-powerful tyrant." 

Derek stared at Stiles for a moment but Stiles didn't dare hope that his words might have sunk in. Stiles thought of all the other things he might call Derek, while he still had the opportunity and the tongue. He doubted he would get a chance like this again after punching the ruler of the galaxy in the face. 

"Evil," Stiles spat. "Tyrant. Dictator. Monster. Torturer. Sadist. War criminal. Entitled asshole. Oppressor. You'd let your people starve and suffer so you can have your warships and your guns and grind everyone to dust under your heel." 

Stiles was running out of relevant insults and about to move on to general ones when Derek cut him off. 

"Take Stiles back to his room. His punishment is to be confined there, except for bathroom breaks, for the next three days. In that time, he will be reduced to level one meals." 

Stiles wondered if this was a deliberate choice because of his comment about no longer being fed slop. He wouldn't put it past Derek to be that vindictive. He just hoped that his proposal wouldn't be dismissed out of hand because of one swung fist. He supposed he should be glad he wasn't going to get brutally tortured but it was hard to feel glad about anything while his dad thought that was what was sure to be happening and while thousands of innocent people could be left suffering because Stiles had angered the person who could control so many lives on a whim. 

As Erica and Boyd marched Stiles to the door, he twisted to look back and said, "You said you'd look at my proposal fairly. You'd better keep that promise too." 

***

Derek stared at the proposal in front of him but it was hard to focus on the details while he kept seeing Stiles' face as he was being led out. Stiles had just punched him, an act for which Peter would have removed his hand at the very least, and his concern was still this proposal. He'd accused Derek of not caring that people starved, of being an evil tyrant. Derek had always thought he was a good ruler. Firm, yes, but that was something he had to be to keep control. He wasn't evil. 

Derek wanted to prove that he wasn't, to show that he wasn't the monster Stiles thought of him. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Stiles. He also wasn't sure if anything would ever be enough to convince Stiles that he wasn't a monster, but perhaps he could at least attempt to do so by accepting Stiles' proposal. He suspected that Stiles had put his third option in the proposal mainly to make the other two seem more reasonable in comparison and he had been considering going for the middle choice, which he was sure had been Stiles' aim, but really compared to other items in his budget, it wasn't a massive amount of money, not when it helped so many. Derek thought of Stiles' words, how he'd talked about this program being for the most vulnerable, and it wasn't just Stiles. 

Stiles, Derek could dismiss as a radical, an anarchist with skewed views as to how the universe really operated, too young to have any real experience in economics. All of that was probably true, but Isaac had agreed with Stiles at least in part. He'd said that the payment amounts needed to go up. He hadn't said that they should or that he thought it might be good, but that they _needed_ to go up. Isaac wasn't an economics expert either, but Derek trusted his judgement. 

Derek wasn't going to implement the ridiculous tax reform that Stiles had talked about. That was out of the question. If nothing else, Derek had to keep control through the bureaucrats and officials at the planetary level and most of them worked directly with the major corporations on their worlds. If Derek tried to push through these changes, he wouldn't have to worry about Stilinski's rebels because he would have the largest companies in the galaxy investing in warships to expel him from power. 

Even as he thought that, Derek could imagine Stiles' reaction. He would sneer or scoff and accuse Derek of refusing to make the change because it was difficult, or of caring more about a few rich plutocrats than the millions of people who worked in their mines or factories. Derek wondered how the hell Stiles had got so inside his head that he was imagining arguments by himself. 

Even as he decided that the tax reform was absurd, Derek sent Stiles' proposal to Lydia and asked her to go through those appendix and supporting files to see if there was any merit to it. Derek was sure that she would say no. She would be able to point to half a dozen economic models and theories that would prove Stiles wrong and let Derek shut that imagined voice up once and for all. 

She came back with her answer a short while later, skipping the detailed economic breakdown in favour of a simple assessment: "It's a decent plan in theory but it would piss off a lot of powerful people and it doesn't take into account reality. He tries to close one set of loopholes but as soon as you do that, business find new ones, or get the governors at a local level to write new ones into the legislature. You've got to remember that the people who'll be hit by these changes are the same ones working with local councils and governors, and they'll put every obstacle in the way of implementing them properly." 

That was essentially what Derek's reaction had been, but Lydia could back it up with more theory. They discussed Stiles' idea for a while with Lydia giving more detail than Derek could follow at times but it was clear that she'd decided that, while it had merits, it wasn't feasible and would just anger a lot of rich and powerful people. 

"He's naive," she said. "He seems to think that if you put a tax in place people will pay it." 

"Isn't that how taxes are supposed to work?" Derek asked. 

She gave him a look that was close to pitying and said, "You are adorable." 

It was said in the sort of tone she might use to comment on a toddler's theory that spaceships flew because of fairy dust. Derek decided to let that point drop. Besides, there were other things to worry about. 

"But what about the food credit program?" Derek asked. 

"You won't have nearly as big a fight on that front. I mean, they'll fight, because you're trying to spend money they think of as theirs, but it's not so big an amount and you can shuffle things around. If you adjust the budgets correctly, the people in charge aren't losing anything much and the people who run food companies actually stand to gain. Stiles' arguments about economic growth are pretty solid on this point. If you spin it right, you can make this work." 

So Derek had his answer. He couldn't change how the corporate tax law worked, but the main part of Stiles' plan was feasible. It would be a hard sell to push the changes through, but it could work and it would help a lot of people. He couldn't make things right with Stiles but at least he could implement the changes to the food credit program and try to believe that, no matter what Stiles might say about it, he wasn't a monster. 

***

Stiles was bored again. He wanted the library. He wanted to walk in the gym. He wanted to eat his disgusting meals surrounded by people he could eavesdrop on to distract himself from the taste. He wanted to get out of this room for more than the couple of minutes he was allowed on his bathroom breaks. Locked in here, there was little to do except think, and the one thing he couldn't stop thinking about was how this must be torture for his dad. Stiles had been thoroughly convinced by Derek's performance as he'd threatened to chop bits off Stiles, and that meant Stiles' dad would be convinced by his fear. He must be imagining Stiles mutilated and suffering in agony. Stiles didn't have any way to reach him, to tell him otherwise. 

Stiles tried to convince himself that it was a good thing that his dad hadn't given up the fight just because he was a hostage, but he knew that his dad would no doubt be feeling awful right now. He must be guilt-ridden, imagining all the awful things Derek might have done. Stiles wished he had telepathic powers and could reach out across the galaxy to let him know that he was alright. 

Early on the second day of Stiles' punishment, there came a chime from the door. Stiles stared at the door for a minute, confused, since he couldn't imagine why anyone would be signalling for permission to enter. He couldn't imagine it would be anything good. 

"Come in," he called, because satisfying his curiosity would kill at least two minutes and this was better than sitting around in an empty room until the boredom made his brain dribble out his ears. 

Isaac walked into the room, with some sort of rectangular box under one arm. Stiles looked at it, trying to work out if it was a torture device. 

"What's going on?" Stiles asked. 

"I've got a few hours off. I thought you might like some company." 

"Is that allowed?" 

"Derek said you have to stay in here. He didn't say no one else could be in here." 

"But won't you get in trouble for this?" 

"Probably not." Isaac brought the rectangle out from under his arm to reveal a game board. "Want to play something?" 

Stiles didn't know what to make of this. He and Isaac weren't friends. He'd thought Isaac barely tolerated him on the best of days and Isaac would definitely not have been Stiles' first choice of people to hang with under any other circumstances, but he had to admit it was nice of him to want to give him company in his current predicament. 

"Thanks." 

"No problem. So what do you want to play?" 

"Chess?" Stiles suggested. 

Isaac made a face at that. They agreed on backgammon and Isaac brought up the board configuration for that. They sat on the bed with the board between them, playing the first moves of the game. 

"I don't know if anyone told you," Isaac said, "but Derek's going along with your plan." 

"My plan? You mean for the reforms to the food credit program." 

"Yeah. He's implementing the changes you suggested." 

"Which level of changes? I made three suggestion options." Stiles expected the answer to be the first option, the cheapest of the three choices Stiles had presented. Isaac smiled. 

"He's gone for the third option, the one with all the changes you asked for and he's rolling the program out across the empire." 

Stiles could only stare at him. For a full minute, he considered the possibility that Isaac was lying to him to make him feel better. But what reason would Isaac have to lie? Had Derek really agreed to Stiles' plan? He couldn't believe that. He'd never in his wildest dreams imagined Derek would pick option three. He'd hoped maybe to talk him into going for option two, but three had only been there to play on the psychology and make two seem more appealing. 

"He's seriously going for it?" 

"Yeah. I think he feels guilty about locking you up in here," Isaac said. 

"I wasn't aware he felt." 

"Of course he feels. Derek isn't like his uncle."


	13. Chapter 12

Derek had a lot of work to do. He always had a lot of work to do, but now he was working on pushing through the reforms to the food credit program without causing a second rebellion to deal with, on top of the review of the media guidelines, a report proposing changes to the safety regulations following some recent mining accidents, and preparing for a speech to the trade committees on imports to the central worlds. On top of that, he was expecting a report from Lydia of her analysis of the recent rebel attack. There were so many things that ought to be occupying his mind, but he kept thinking of Stiles, all alone in that cell. 

He already knew that Stiles didn't do well with being bored. He was probably tearing his hair out in frustration already. Derek knew it wouldn't do him any good, but he wanted to check in on Stiles, so he brought up the security feed for his room. To Derek's surprise, the image that resolved over his computer was of two people, not one. Isaac and Stiles sat together, playing a game of some sort, and talking about the reforms to the credit program. 

When Stiles made the comment about Derek not feeling, Derek couldn't help a grimace. He knew Stiles thought badly of him, but it was still difficult to hear those opinions spoken aloud, even after Derek had done something to show his compassion. 

"Of course he feels," Isaac replied, and Derek felt glad that someone at least understood that he was doing what was right, but then Isaac followed up with, "Derek isn't like his uncle." 

Such a damning remark coming so quickly after words of praise was difficult to take, especially from Isaac. Isaac had been at Derek's side for years. Derek trusted him and cared about his opinions. It hurt that even Isaac would compare Derek to his uncle and find him lacking. Derek wished he hadn't looked at the feed, wished he hadn't heard these words, but they weren't done and Derek couldn't bring himself to press the off switch while he knew they were comparing him to Peter. 

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked. 

"Peter was everything you think Derek is," Isaac answered. "The only reason I'm still alive is because Derek shielded me from him. Peter didn't approve of Derek hiring me onto his security team and he would have executed me as a potential security risk without bothering to find out if I was one."

"Why would he think you were a threat?" Stiles asked. 

"Normally, to get a job working so closely with the royal family, you have to be recommended by superior officers and have a perfect record. You go through vetting processes and interviews to make sure you're loyal. It normally takes months. Derek hired me on a whim before I'd even finished training. He saw that I was being hurt and he just made the offer. He changed my life. Peter thought it was a setup, that I'd staged the whole thing to win Derek's sympathy and get close to him. Peter thought I should be killed, or that at the very least Derek shouldn't let me near him, but Derek stood his ground about hiring me." There was fondness in Isaac's voice as he spoke. "Derek saved me and then he kept protecting me from Peter, because that's who he really is. The politics and punishments, that's the stuff he _does_ because he thinks he has to. But seeing someone in pain and deciding to rescue me without a second thought, that's who Derek _is_." 

Listening to Isaac speak, Derek felt a surge of guilt, because Isaac made it seem like hiring him had been a purely selfless act. The fact was that it had been driven by selfishness, by loneliness. Derek had felt isolated, with only his uncle and the people his uncle had chosen as his guides and protectors. He'd wanted to have someone to talk to who wasn't reporting back to Peter. Hiring Isaac had been more about demanding a trace of independence than it had been about helping Isaac. Taking on Boyd and Erica had been more of the same, a way for Derek to stand up to his uncle and demanding to be taken seriously, allowed to make his own decisions. 

In the end, Peter had told him that it was good thinking to have chosen people who would be beholden to him for their position, but that he should remember that gratitude only worked to secure loyalty in the short term. Peter had been planning for the possibility of the trio betraying them even as Derek was signing the paperwork to hire them. 

Derek's attention was dragged back to his screen and the feed from Stiles' room, because Isaac wasn't done talking. 

"Peter cared about power. Maybe he cared about his family, I don't know, but I think that was more about making sure he had a legacy, that his name would be remembered, and that's just another sort of power. Derek isn't like that. He's a good man." 

Stiles gave a dismissive scoff. "I'll believe that when I see it." 

"He is," Isaac insisted. "At least, he wants to be. Derek cares about doing the right thing, he just had Peter whispering in his ears for too long and its taking him a while to figure out what the right thing is." 

"Not torturing people isn't a difficult concept." 

"He didn't torture you." 

"I'm supposed to give him credit for that? I'm imprisoned because Derek doesn't like my dad. That's not justice. That's not right. It's definitely not something a good man would do." 

Derek wasn't quite sure what to make of all he was hearing. His uncle had been a great ruler; he'd had command of greater territory than anyone else in history. Yes, he had been firm, but it had been necessary to maintain the order that kept the galaxy from spiraling into chaos. He'd understood all the factions and the local leaders, the business owners and the military commanders, able to keep each group in balance without angering any of them so much that they'd turn against him. He'd brought peace to countless worlds, uniting them under one authority to allow trade and movement and more opportunities for everyone. He'd worked hard and had a grasp of politics that was almost instinctive and that Derek had never been able to emulate no matter how hard he tried. He was a leader Derek ought to aspire to be. 

And yet Isaac was talking about him as a bad person. offering criticism without praise. 

Was this just to appeal to Stiles, to try and reach him through all the rebel brainwashing he must have been exposed to? Or did Isaac genuinely believe what he was saying? 

"I wasn't around when Derek was a kid," Isaac said, "and I didn't see many interactions between him and Peter, but what I did see was always Peter talking about control, about having a firm hand, about needing to constantly remind people of his power to make sure they never slipped out of line, about buying loyalty and punishing disloyalty to make sure that it was never worth it for anyone to work against him. He acted like everyone was an enemy waiting to happen. That's what Derek grew up with. It takes time to get away from that sort of brainwashing." 

Brainwashing. The very word Derek had been thinking about Stiles, Isaac was now saying about him. 

"He can afford some really expensive therapists to help him deal with it," Stiles said. 

"Derek is trying to be a good person, a good leader. The problem is that his entire worldview was filtered through a Peter lens, but Peter's gone now and Derek's starting to see things for himself. You can help him do that." 

"Why would I want to help Derek do anything?" 

"Because helping Derek helps everyone else in this galaxy." 

"Why don't you do it if you care so much?" 

"Because I can't do what you did," Isaac said. "I could have told Derek that I thought Harris was a smarmy asshole, but you proved that he was lying. I could have told Derek that being on the food credit program sucks and that it's impossible to get a decent meal on it, but you were able to demonstrate it with bar charts and spreadsheets. I can tell Derek that Peter was cruel and vicious and wrong, but you can prove it to him." 

"Assuming he ever listens to a word I say again," Stiles said. "My dad did just attack his fleet and I just punched him in the face. I'm lucky my hands are still attached at this point. Probably the only reason I'm not rotting in a hard labour camp right now is because I'm more useful as a hostage if Derek keeps me close." 

Once again, Stiles sounded like he believed every word he said. He expected Derek to ship him off to a labour camp for a punch, or for who his father was. If Stiles' punch had happened in public, Derek knew he might have been forced to do just that, to make an example of Stiles. Peter would have insisted on a public punishment to show that such insubordination was unacceptable. He knew that maintaining control meant maintaining the fear of ever attacking the overlord's rule. But now Derek allowed himself to think something he'd never really thought before, a question slipping into his mind: what if Peter was wrong? 

There was a chime from Derek's office door and he killed the feed from Stiles' room. 

"Enter." 

Lydia walked in. 

"What have you got for me?" Derek asked, knowing that she would only have come here in person if there was something interesting in her analysis of the rebel attack. 

"I don't think Stilinski was behind the attack," she said. 

Derek sat up straighter. "What makes you say that?" 

"A lot of little things. On their own, they're insignificant, but when you bring them all together, it gives me significant doubt. I've transferred some files to you." 

She showed him a number of analyses, from the technical specs of the ships and weapons used in the attack, to the vector used for jumping in and out of the system, even the strategies used in the initial attack. Derek tried to follow what she was saying, but in places she started talking about probability factors and standard deviations. 

"Your conclusion to all this is that Stilinski didn't do this?" 

"It's not conclusive. It's possible he's mixing up his strategies to throw us off, and the vectors could be explained if the rebels moved base after you took Stiles, but when you combine those differences with the fact that he used a different boarding craft after using the exact same ship in his last five similar assaults, it makes me think that someone else was behind this attack." 

"Who?" 

"I don't know yet." 

There was another group of rebels out there with the ships and weapons to attack his fleet, another group who were willing to fight a war against him. But the thing that bothered Derek most about this was that he'd put Stiles through the fake torture and locked him up as punishment for something his father hadn't even done. Peter would have just shrugged it off, but Derek was less willing to accept that punishing anyone was a valid substitute for punishing the right person. Looking at Lydia's report, Derek couldn't help thinking about the conversation he'd overheard, about how Isaac seemed to think that being like Peter was something to be avoided rather than aimed at. But what did that mean for Derek now? 

He couldn't exactly apologise to Stiles and take back the transmission he'd sent out to his father. Walking back his punishment would make him seem indecisive and weak. Derek didn't need Peter's voice speaking to him out of his memories to know that was a dangerous thing to do, especially if there were apparently two groups of rebels now fighting against his rule. 

"Go through all the reports," Derek told Lydia. "Come up with your list of top suspects for who might be the new enemy behind this attack." 

Lydia nodded and left to begin her research, leaving Derek alone in his study once again. He ought to get on with his ever-growing pile of work, but he kept thinking of Stiles. Stiles was being punished for a crime he hadn't committed, and now it seemed even his father hadn't committed it. Light as the punishment might be, still Derek felt he ought to do something to make amends, but he had to do so in a way that wouldn't hurt his position. 

He should give Stiles something, something to make the tedium of his confinement more endurable to him. Derek might have given him a game board if Isaac hadn't thought of it first, but there had to be something else that interested him. 

The answer, when it came, was obvious: books. Stiles liked the library. Lydia had told him that it wasn't just the information contained within them that interested him; she'd described the way Stiles had looked at the treasure trove of physical books in Derek's collection. Perhaps Stiles could do with some reading material, and it wasn't like Derek spent any time reading those artifacts. He pulled up Stiles' library records, looking at the statistical breakdown of his reading habits to see what was likely to be most appreciated. Stiles read non-fiction far more frequently than fiction, which ruled out almost a third of the collection, but his tastes varied enormously, with him switching topics from book to book, and sometimes from minute to minute. It took Derek a while to settle on a choice. 

He went to the library himself to retrieve the book, pressing his thumb to the panel that unlocked the protective shelving units. He pulled out an old medical textbook. It was for an introductory course, which meant Stiles ought to be able to understand it without needing in depth expertise, and it had always amused Derek because it had been used by years of students who had scribbled through its pages. Some notes were reminders or summaries to help with studying, some were notes to future readers of the book of where to find more useful explanations of particular subjects in other sources, and some were tips that a particular professor always included this question or that in their exams. Most of the information contained within the textbook's pages had been superseded in the two centuries or so since this had been a training manual for young doctors, but it was fascinating as a historical artifact, giving insights into what people had once believed about the human body and the limits of what their medicine could manage. 

Derek carried the book carefully through the ship until he reached Stiles' room, opening the door to let himself in. Isaac had gone, but Stiles was sitting on the bed, the game board in front of him as he played a match of chess against the AI. He looked up sharply, fear filling his expression as he recognised Derek, but that fear didn't dim his defiance. 

"Come to inflict more psychological torture?" Stiles asked. 

Derek refrained from pointing out that he hadn't tortured Stiles and still could. He reminded himself that he was here to ease his guilt not cause more of it. 

"I thought you might want something to ease your boredom, though it would seem someone else has already seen to that." He didn't need to let Stiles know that he'd been watching the security feed and knew the source of the game board. Stiles was tense at Derek's words. Perhaps he thought that Derek would take it away. Instead, Derek just set the book down on the bed. 

"I'm allowed to read that?" Stiles asked. 

"It's a book. That's what they're for." 

"Don't I need special gloves to handle it or something?" 

The book was already decorated with coffee stains and ink marks from its original owners, but Derek probably should have consider it's worth as a historical resource. Perhaps he should have given Stiles something to protect the old paper, but this was hardly the most valuable of Derek's collection and it was hardly a great loss either to him or the field of historical medicine if it were to be damaged. All he said was, "Just treat it with care." 

"Why?" Stiles asked. 

"Because it's more than two hundred years old," Derek said. 

"No, I know that. I meant why give it to me? Why let me read it?" 

"I know you don't do well with boredom and you have another day and a half of confinement." 

"Is this how you sleep at night?" Stiles asked. Derek didn't understand the question, so he just looked at Stiles, raising his eyebrows in question until Stiles elaborated. "You oppress the galaxy, keep your people downtrodden and suffering, but you convince yourself you're not a monster because ever once in a while you deign to do something nice." 

"It's not my aim to cause suffering for my people." 

"But you don't care that you do." 

"I care, Stiles." 

"Then do something about it. Right now, life sucks for a whole mess of people and you're flying around in your war palace worrying about my dad instead of dealing with the problems that are making people want to rebel in the first place. Either you don't give a damn about helping your people, or you just really suck at your job." 

Derek knew he needed to get out of there before he said something he would regret. 

"Enjoy the book, Stiles," he said, and let himself out of the room. He felt better for his trip in at least one way, because it proved that Stiles was an ungrateful brat. If he didn't care about Derek trying to make things better for him, then there was no point in Derek trying to do so. He could leave Stiles to the remainder of his punishment. 

He strode back to his study, only to be interrupted partway there by a buzz on his comms. 

"What?" he demanded. 

"Sir, there's a signal coming in for you. It's from Stilinski."


	14. Interlude 2

Noah Stilinski had put the shuttle into a standby mode, running power and life support but not powering engines. He let the shuttle drift for a few hours so that the trail of his arrival to this empty quadrant would be harder to detect, the energy traces dissipating and his own momentum a slow spin that would make his previous trajectory impossible to identify. He didn't know what the response to his call would be and he didn't want Hale to be able to follow his path back to the rebel hideout. Waiting was difficult, knowing that every second that passed was probably another second that Stiles was in agony, but he couldn't let his emotions overrule his sense when there was so much at stake. The mission was too important for him to put anyone but himself at risk, even for Stiles. 

When he thought he'd left enough time, he activated the shuttle's communication systems and brought power into the tachyon relay. He sent out a broad transmission with his identity and the fact that he wanted to speak to Overlord Hale, and he let his message play on a loop. 

This second period of waiting felt as agonisingly slow as the first had been, but he suspected that he was only waiting a few minutes. His comms received the answering ping and the channel automatically adjusted to a narrow link and Noah positioned himself in front of the screen as it came to life and Hale's face stared out of it at him. 

"Stilinski," Hale said. He seemed a little surprised. 

"I didn't authorise the attack that you're punishing Stiles for," Noah said. Hale's face showed little reaction to that. 

"You've authorised plenty of others in the past." 

"But not this one. I've followed your instructions and now there are others who don't think I'm a suitable leader anymore. Having Stiles as a hostage might stop me but it won't stop them." 

"You're telling me that he is useless to me as a hostage?" Hale asked. Noah had been afraid of this reaction, of this conclusion, afraid of what they might mean for Stiles. 

"He's not completely useless to you," Noah said quickly, before Hale decided to cut his losses and cut Stiles' throat. 

"How so?" 

"I will trade myself for him. I'm a much more valuable prisoner to you than he is. Stop hurting him, give him medical treatment for whatever injuries he has, and let him go free, alive and safe, and I will surrender myself to you." 

"I already have one of my warships on its way to your location," Hale said. "They could take you prisoner without requiring your surrender." 

"But not without a fight. You know the sort of damage I can do, even against a warship, but I will surrender peacefully if you let Stiles go. You said in your transmission that you keep your promises, so promise that you'll let Stiles go and I will let your people take me." 

Hale considered this for some time. Noah's heart was pounding as each moment passed, but he dared to hope that Hale wouldn't pause this long unless he was treating the idea seriously and there was no reason for him to refuse. This was a good trade for him. Noah hoped he would be able to resist torture and keep from revealing anything about the rebels, but he was still useful to Hale as a demonstration of what happened to his enemies. Now that others were attacking Hale's fleet, Stiles wasn't worth nearly so much. 

"I accept the terms of your surrender," Hale said at last. "If you allow yourself to be captured without a fight, I promise that I will release Stiles. I will see to it that he is healthy enough to travel and even give him supplies to get to an inhabited system of his choice." 

"And you won't torture him any further?" 

Hale smiled a little, as though this insistence amused him. That little twitch at the corners of his mouth made hate churn in Noah's guts. 

"I won't torture him any further," Hale said. Noah drew in a shuddering breath of relief. 

"Very well. Then I will wait here for your warship to arrive." 

This would be the last gift he could give Stiles. He just hoped it would be enough.


	15. Chapter 13

Derek had been concerned about Stilinski's offer, but he doubted the man would attempt a false surrender. If his message and their deal turned out to be the bait in a trap then Derek would never be able to trust a rebel surrender again, he'd be forced to assume that any surrendering group might actually be hostile, and that would only hurt the people Stilinski wanted to help. Besides, with Stiles' life on the line, at least in Stilinski's eyes, Derek didn't think he would risk it. 

Still, Derek was relieved when he received the message that his warship had captured the rebel commander. Stilinski had kept his word, letting the soldiers board his shuttle and take him into custody, not so much as throwing a punch to stop them. The arrest had been peaceful and the only blood drawn was a small sample from Stilinski to be run through a medical analyser to check that the man hadn't chosen to poison himself with something slow-acting to avoid an official execution. The soldiers had searched the shuttle for hidden weapons or booby traps but found nothing, so they had brought it with them. At least this way, Derek wouldn't have to lose one of his own shuttles to keep his word regarding Stiles' release. 

It was strange to think of Stiles leaving, but at least now Derek could be free of the guilt he felt regarding him. This was for the best. Stiles would be free, to enjoy his life and to show his brilliance in some other place. A part of Derek couldn't help thinking it was a waste that he couldn't keep Stiles here, researching issues for him, shedding his insights on things Derek had never experienced first-hand. It felt almost like handing over a weapon to his enemies to let Stiles go to the rebels and he could imagine that it wouldn't be long before his armies would have to face strategies Stiles had planned. However naive Lydia thought him, there could be no doubt about his intelligence and giving that intelligence over to his enemies wouldn't be good for his side. 

Derek knew what Peter would say. He would say that setting Stiles free was too big of a risk, that the safe thing to do was to let Stilinski think he was setting Stiles free but to rig the shuttle with explosives and rid himself of a future problem before he had to deal with its consequences. 

He couldn't do that though, and not just because it would be breaking his promise. Stiles didn't deserve to die. He was a kid with some radical ideas and no sense of respect, but he was still just a kid. He was a brilliant, intelligent kid who ought to be channeling his talents into helping people instead of throwing the galaxy into chaos with rebellion, but maybe Derek could steer him to a safer future for both of them. He didn't dare hope that Stiles could come out of this situation feeling any sense of gratitude towards him, not with his father a prisoner, but perhaps Derek could soften the hatred and give Stiles a nudge to a more constructive option. 

Derek paused in his study to type out an order, attaching his official authorisation and then packaging the file onto a small memory unit. The order was simple enough, a message to any university or academic institution in the galaxy that Stiles was to be enrolled on a course of his choosing from economics to philosophy, so long as it didn't include military training, with tuition and accommodation paid in full by the crown. It was a strange gift to offer a rebel, but if he could persuade Stiles to take it, perhaps he'd go into business or try for a government position on a planetary level, and try to change the galaxy that way. And maybe, if he was off studying, he wouldn't be fighting battles with his forces and he would be kept safe. Assuming he would accept a gift from Derek at all. 

The piece of data storage was nearly lost inside Derek's pocket as he left his study again. The ship with Stilinski on board was approaching. It was time to get this exchange over with. He sent Boyd to fetch Stiles and headed for the shuttle bay. 

***

Stiles was surprised when Boyd came into his room. He'd been playing chess against the game board's AI and was happy to have an interruption but something about Boyd's expression told him that he hadn't stopped by for a friendly chat the way Isaac had. 

"You need to come with me," Boyd said. 

"I thought I was supposed to be stuck in here until tomorrow," Stiles said. 

"Things have changed." He looked so serious that there was no way this change could be good. Stiles' heart was racing from fear as he followed Boyd from the room. Had Derek decided to torture him after all? Had there been another rebel attack? 

Stiles was taken to the shuttle bay, but this time he hadn't been fitted with extra restraints, so he didn't think he was going on another field trip. Derek was waiting near the entrance to the bay as a shuttle came in to land. It wasn't like the other shuttles in this bay, pristine and sleek and of the latest models. No, the shuttle that was coming in looked like it had been through wars, with scouring along the sides and a nose panel of a different colour to the rest of the hull and one thruster that wasn't firing at full capacity, meaning that the shuttle wobbled through its approach. It was exactly the sort of barely-flying scrap that the rebels had to make do with, and that thought made the terror fill Stiles so completely that he thought he might vomit from it. 

The shuttle killed its engines and the hatch opened. A cluster of soldiers emerged in the neat uniforms of Hale's army, but in the middle of the group was a man whose uniform was as patched and worn as the shuttle. Stiles gave a strangled cry and started running, barely noticing the guns that were instantly aimed at him. 

"Let him pass," Hale called, and the guns didn't fire. Two of the soldiers stepped aside so that Stiles could throw his arms around his dad and hug him tight. 

His dad didn't hug him back. He couldn't. His arms were bound behind his back by heavy-duty security cuffs. He didn't seem to be hurt though. Stiles squeezed him tighter, hugging enough for both of them. 

"I love you, dad," he said. 

"I love you, Stiles. I'm sorry." 

Stiles wasn't sure precisely what his dad was apologising for, so he just said, "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault." 

"Be strong." 

Then there were hands on Stiles' shoulders, pulling him back. Stiles didn't want to let go of the hug, but Boyd was there, pulling them apart, and Stiles could see the tears on his dad's face. There were matching tears on Stiles' cheeks. 

Something buzzed at his wrist and Stiles tore his eyes away from his dad long enough to look down and see the security cuff unlocking from his arm and falling into Boyd's waiting hand. 

"As per our agreement," Derek said from a little way behind Stiles, "I will have the shuttle refuelled and stocked with enough supplies to last a week. Stiles is free to go wherever he wishes." 

"What?" Stiles asked. He'd heard the words but his mind couldn't quite grasp them. The implications were huge, overwhelming him. He was free, and he was free because of an agreement his dad had made. His dad had seen the video implying he was being tortured and he'd given himself up in exchange for his freedom. Stiles wanted to tell him no, to make him take back whatever promise had been exchanged, to reveal that he hadn't been in danger, that the torture had just been a lie, but wouldn't that make it worse? Did he really want to tell his dad that whatever deal had been struck had been entirely pointless? Especially since the pain his dad was almost certain to suffer wasn't going to be a ruse. 

"You're free, Stiles," Derek said. He nodded towards the shuttle. Then he looked to the soldier in officer's uniform at the front of the little group, "Take the prisoner to the cells and secure him." 

"No," Stiles said. He wasn't sure what he hoped to achieve but he threw himself between that officer and his dad. The officer responded by raising his fist and Stiles braced himself for the pain of the impact, but the officer froze. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles could see Derek with his hand raised in a gesture to stop. 

Then Boyd was there again, his hand on Stiles shoulder, holding him in place firmly but without inflicting any physical pain, while the soldiers marched around him, herding his father with them. 

"I love you, Stiles," he dad called over his shoulder as he was led away. Stiles could only stare after him, wondering if this would be the last time he saw him. 

He looked back at Derek through tear-blurred eyes. 

"Please," Stiles said. "Please, let me stay with him." 

"Your father surrendered in exchange for your freedom." 

"Let me stay." He wasn't sure what he could possibly do for his father. It wasn't like he thought he could take on Derek's soldiers and security teams and fight his dad free of this ship. It wasn't like he thought he could interfere with whatever gruesome interrogations were no doubt lined up. He just knew that being here was better than being somewhere else, unable to do anything at all, unable to even see what his dad was going through. 

"I promised I would set you free," Derek said. 

"But did you promise when? I could stay here while my dad's here and then you could let me go when..." Stiles couldn't finish that thought, couldn't bring himself to put the unbearable into words. Derek could set him free after his dad's inevitable execution. 

"His surrender was the price he paid for your release. Do you want to tell your father that he paid that price for nothing?" 

"I don't want to leave him here with you! You said I could go wherever I wanted, well I want to stay right here!" 

"I could dump you out an airlock and you'd stay right here," Derek pointed out, "while my ship moves on to other places. This argument is pointless, Stiles. I could have you rendered unconscious, placed on that shuttle, and left here." 

"I'd follow you." 

"In a decrepit shuttle? I promised I would release you and I'm going to. You can take the shuttle to anywhere you choose and I've made arrangements..." But Stiles didn't care about whatever arrangements Derek might have made. 

"And what will happen to my father?" Stiles already knew the answer but he had to ask it. 

"He will be questioned regarding his involvement with the rebels, their forces and deployments, their plans." 

"And by questioned you mean tortured," Stiles said. 

"That depends if he cooperates. Stiles, your father doesn't want you here. He _won't_ want you here." 

That was probably true. Stiles' dad wouldn't want Stiles to see him getting tortured, but it wouldn't be any worse than being out there, imagining it all, tortured every minute with the possibilities his mind supplied. Leaving was utterly unthinkable. 

"Let me stay," Stiles said. "I'll serve you in any way you want. I'll perform menial labour on the ship. I'll do research on proposals you receive. I'll service you in your bed. I won't fight, I won't argue, I'll do anything you want. Please." 

"What I _want_ ," Derek said, "is for you to get on that shuttle and leave." 

Stiles dropped to his knees with an impact that jolted his legs and made the metal decking of the shuttle bay ring. He looked up at Derek, offering a subservience he'd refused to show since his arrival here because this was too important for his pride. 

"Please," Stiles said. "I'm begging you. Let me stay with my dad."


	16. Chapter 14

Derek stared down at Stiles. He hardly knew how to react to this. The memory of Peter whispered in the back of his mind that this was everything he had wanted. He could keep Stiles here, where he couldn't cause any trouble, and he still had the rebel commander as a prisoner. He had tried to fulfil his promise and now, through no fault of his own, he had the both of them as his prisoners. 

But something about the sight of Stiles kneeling there, tears streaming down his face, made his heart ache. He looked so broken, so lost and hopeless, and that the sight stirred something inside him. Stiles had been so fierce before now, speaking his mind even when he'd been terrified, and the memory of him punching Derek in the face or insulting him didn't mesh with this image of him begging and offering himself up completely. He had wondered about sleeping with Stiles, and might have accepted the offer if it had been made freely, but it was clear that Stiles had no real interest in the act, or in being with him. He was doing anything and everything, no matter what it might cost him, and Derek realised that he would rather have Stiles calling him a tyrant than offering to service him sexually out of desperation. The thought of touching Stiles that way, knowing how Stiles really felt, filled Derek with a sense of revulsion. Still, he didn't have to go that far for this to work out in his favour. He knew he could make use of this situation, even if he didn't take advantage of him sexually. He could make use of Stiles for his brilliant mind and his honest insights, and Peter would tell him that was the sensible path to choose. But was the sensible path the right one? If Derek used him in any way, even if he didn't do all that Stiles had offered to allow, he would be the cruel tyrant Stiles believed him to be. 

Stiles hadn't committed a crime. He was still a kid and he'd suffered enough. Derek knew then that he didn't want Stiles to suffer anymore, but Stiles clearly seemed to believe that being forced to leave was a greater suffering than staying a prisoner. Was Stiles right about that? 

"Stand up," Derek ordered. 

Stiles stood. He looked at Derek warily. 

"Follow me," Derek said. Stiles looked relieved as Derek turned towards the shuttle bay doors and walked after the prisoner escort he'd sent through there minutes before. Boyd fell into place behind them as they hurried along. 

Stiles dragged a sleeve across his face, sniffling into it but no longer crying quite so hard. 

"Does this mean I can stay?" Stiles asked. He sounded both relieved and apprehensive. 

"It's obvious you won't listen to me," Derek said. "Perhaps you'll listen to your father." 

When Derek had Stiles brought here, he'd shown a little kindness in the accommodation arrangements, letting Stiles stay in ordinary crew quarters since he was too young to be an active part of the rebel organisation. The same would not be the case for a criminal of the kind Stiles' father was, so Derek led the way to the ship's brig. They didn't have many cells on this ship because they weren't a prisoner transport and they didn't want to risk having too many criminals near the overlord, but for a prisoner like Stilinski, it was worth keeping him close. 

They reached the brig, where a soldier stood on guard. He saluted Derek and then opened the door to the cell for them to go through. The room beyond that heavy door was split down the middle, with this half containing a comfortable chair for an interrogator and a table on which to rest a computer. The other half of the room, beyond both a metal grill and the buzz of a force field to ensure the prisoner would remain trapped even if enemies took out one security system, was just a hard bench that served as both seat and bed for Stilinski. 

Stilinski leapt to his feet as Derek put a hand on Stiles' shoulder and pushed him into the room. His face was full of fury. 

"You promised to let him go!" 

"Tell him that," Derek said, pointing a finger at Stiles and letting some of the irritation he felt show in his voice. He stepped back, out of the cell again and let the door slide shut. 

"I'm not leaving you here," he heard Stiles say, and then the door sealed closed and all sound was trapped inside the room. It would give them an illusion of privacy, though Derek would have his security team check the recordings later to ensure that neither of them was planning anything. Derek would give them a few minutes to talk and hopefully that would be enough to convince Stiles to cooperate. If not, it would at least convince Stilinski that he'd tried to keep his promise and it was his own stubborn son who was messing things up. 

Derek wasn't sure what to do now. There was no point in walking back to his study or anywhere else on the ship, because he would simply have to turn around and walk back to retrieve Stiles. So he looked at the guard, who was standing rigidly at attention, eyes scanning the corridor on either side, either to look for threats or to avoid having to meet the eyes of his ruler. Beside them, Boyd stood silently. Chatting to Boyd as friends with this guard standing here didn't seem a sensible option and was probably rude towards the guard. 

"What's your name?" Derek asked. 

"Liam Dunbar, sir," the guard answered. 

"Do you like your job here?" It was all he could think of to ask. Derek hated small talk as a general rule, but right now he hated it slightly less than the idea of standing in silence until he felt that he'd given Stiles enough time to see reason. 

"It's an honour to serve on your ship, sir." 

"That wasn't the question I asked. Do you like your job?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Are there any issues you wish to raise?" He asked the question more because he needed to fill the silence than for any real desire to hear the answers, but it would be a good idea to hear the opinions of those who served him. Given the comments Isaac had made about getting different perspectives, it would be interesting to know what others thought. 

"No, sir." Liam looked so tense Derek thought his muscles might snap his bones. It must be difficult for him, faced with a man who had complete control over this place, to be honest. 

"I know no job is ever perfect," Derek said. "I'm happy you like your work here, but if there was one thing you would change, what would it be?" 

"I miss the sky," Liam said. A moment later, panic flickered across his face and he spoke hurried. "But your highness has thoughtfully provided equipment in the gym to simulate the experience of being outdoors, so it is a very minor issue and you have already done more than enough to deal with the problem, and it's not so great an issue that the benefits of this position don't easily outweigh it." 

"Thank you, Liam," Derek said, before Liam could keep talking. "Your honesty is appreciated." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 

Boyd seemed a little amused by the whole exchange, though he was keeping his face carefully calm. The guard in front of them was anything but calm. Derek had probably dragged this awkwardness out long enough. 

"Open the door again," Derek ordered. 

"Yes, sir." 

Derek wasn't sure which of them was more relieved that the conversation was over. He would have to do something for Liam to make up for this whole, painful exchange, which he'd only been subjected to because of Stiles' stubborn attitude. The door opened and Derek walked into the cell again. Stiles and his father turned towards him from where they'd been staring intently at each other. 

"Well?" Derek said. 

"You said I could go anywhere I wanted," Stiles said, "so I'm staying." 

"Very well," Derek said. He decided to stop arguing. It was better this way. He could make use of Stiles' talents and ensure that the rebels couldn't. Having Stiles near at hand might prove useful in making Stilinski talk. Not that Stilinski seemed likely to talk at the moment. He poured hatred across the barrier through his glare. 

"You could make him leave," Stilinski said. "You could keep your promise, whatever he says." 

Derek looked at Stilinski and said, "I told you I would let him go where he wanted to. It's not my fault he chose poorly. Come along, Stiles." 

He put his hand on Stiles' shoulder again, guiding him out of the room. Behind him, Stilinski let out a string of swearwords and insults that were cut off when the door closed between them. Derek led Stiles towards the offices, Boyd falling into place behind them again. 

"You said that if I let you stay, you would work for me in whatever way I saw fit." 

Stiles swallowed nervously but he said, "Yes." 

"What do you know about mine safety?" 

"Absolutely nothing, but give me an hour in your library with a connection to the records database, I can have the basics figured out." 

"There was a recent accident and a number of people died. In response, some groups have been saying that the mine safety regulations need to be amended." 

"Have you asked the miners what they think about all this?" Stiles asked. 

"Of course. The three largest mining corporations have put forward their recommendations." 

"Ugh!" Stiles made a noise of mingled frustration and disgust. "No. That's the stupidest way to do this." 

"Really?" Derek asked, amused that Stiles could so quickly forget his situation and his father's peril and start talking to him with such disrespect. They reached an elevator and walked inside. Derek pressed the button for the floor while Stiles seemed to realise what he'd just said and he shot Derek a nervous look. 

"I mean... erm... that's... What I meant was... No, screw it, you want me to tell you what's going on, I'll tell you. That's a terrible way to find out what you ought to do. Those companies are the last people you should ask about regulation changes." 

"But those companies have mines across the galaxy - planetside, asteroid mines, even gas extraction plants on giant planets. They will have a good understanding of the situation across all types of mines. Smaller companies would only know about the situation on one type of mine, but the regulations would be broad." 

Stiles shook his head. "The biggest three companies didn't become the biggest three companies because they give a damn about worker safety. They'll care about profit, and to hell with the workers. The will cut corners to save money and not care if anyone gets hurt. Any advice they give you will be more about how to protect their bottom line than protecting the miners. You need to bypass the boards and the directors and so on and go straight for the miners themselves, the people on the ground - or floating around the asteroids as the case may be. Ask _them_ what their biggest concerns about safety are." 

Stiles thought for a moment as the elevator doors opened and Derek led them out again. 

"You're right," he conceded, "that the people at one type of mine won't have a clear idea about the situation on others, and I suspect every planet will have its own quirks regarding mine operations and the difficulties they face, so you'd have to ask very broadly. You'd need to pick a representative sample of each of the major mine types and sizes and then send the workers a survey to fill out to gather their thoughts on the safety and what needs to be improved." 

They reached the office Stiles had used before and Derek showed Stiles inside, turning on the computer so that Stiles would have somewhere to work. Stiles was chewing his lip, still thinking. 

"You'd have to be careful," Stiles continued, "because the miners will be worried about losing their jobs. They might be afraid that they'll get fired if they say something bad about their employers." 

Derek remembered the way Liam had looked when asked for his opinion and had to admit that Stiles had a point there. "True. We would have to make the survey anonymous." 

"Anonymous is a good start, but you might still get the mining companies penalising people for filling it out, or the miners might be afraid that it's not as anonymous as they've been told. You'd have to give some sort of incentive for filling it in to make sure you get enough results to draw an accurate conclusion. Or better yet, you could make in mandatory, but in that case you'd have to make it really easy for people to fill it in and you'd have to be careful about how you enforce it." 

Stiles started chewing his lip again in a way that was very distracting, especially given that Derek could still remember the other way Stiles had suggested paying for his place here. Derek forced himself to look away, not letting his thoughts stray too far in that direction. 

"Prepare a plan for the survey," he said, "including who should be asked to fill it out and what you recommend to make sure we get accurate information. So long as you assist me with research and similar work, you will be allowed to see your father each morning between the hours of six and nine, ship time. From nine, you are expected to be here or in the library working. You can take a break for lunch but then you are expected to be working until six." 

"Can I see my dad after six?" Stiles asked. 

"No. You may see your father only in the mornings. Boyd, adjust the settings on Stiles' security cuff so he doesn't need to be escorted." 

"You got it." 

Derek started to leave so that Stiles could get on with his work and earn his place here, but Stiles' voice came from behind him, nervous and hesitant, "Derek? What are you going to do to my dad?" 

Derek knew what the answer to that question ought to be. He knew what Peter would say to that question, if he allowed anyone the leeway to even ask it. Stilinski was an enemy, a rebel, someone who had led military attacks against Derek and against order. He deserved to be publicly punished as a message to the galaxy that such actions were unacceptable. But hurting Stilinski would hurt Stiles and Derek really hoped that there was a way to avoid that. So instead he answered, "That depends on how well he cooperates." 

It probably wasn't a reassuring answer for Stiles, but it was as close to reassurance as Derek was willing to offer. He couldn't forget that Stilinski was an enemy. Just because Derek liked Stiles was no reason to compromise his position of authority.


	17. Chapter 15

Derek returned to the cell to begin his interrogation of Stilinski. The man was standing on the other side of the room when Derek walked inside. He left Boyd waiting outside, since he was confident Stilinski wouldn't be able to cross both the physical and the force field barriers. Derek sat down in the comfortable chair while Stilinski continued to glare at him across those barriers. Facing such hatred, Derek felt a strange urge to apologise to the man and to say that he really had intended to keep his promise regarding Stiles. He squashed down that impulse. He couldn't lose authority here. Stilinski had to know which of them was in control if he was to break and reveal information on the rebel forces. 

So Derek sat there, waiting, calm, watching Stilinski seethe. It was Stilinski who broke the silence. 

"Where's my son?" 

"Stiles is secure and he's safe. I will let you see him tomorrow morning." Derek considered telling Stilinski he would let him see Stiles if he cooperated, but he had already told Stiles he could see his father. It was damage his negotiating position if Stilinski didn't cooperate because then Derek would either have to take back what he'd agreed with Stiles or give Stilinski a promised reward he hadn't earned. 

"What will you do to him between now and then?" Stilinski demanded. 

"Stiles is much more cooperative than you are. He has agreed to serve me." 

"Serve you? In what way?" 

"In whatever way I choose. He offered to serve me in my bed." 

Stilinski paled. He looked like he might try to punch his way through the barriers between them. 

"You sick bastard." 

"I haven't taken him to bed," Derek said. "Although... he is a very attractive young man." 

He let those words hang in the air between them as an unspoken threat. It was a threat Derek would never consider carrying out, not with Stiles or anyone, but Stilinski didn't need to know that. Derek suspected that threats towards Stiles would be far more effective than physical torture with someone like Stilinski. 

"If you lay one finger on him-" 

"You are hardly in a position to be making threats, Mr Stilinski." 

"You said you'd let him go." 

"And I had every intention of doing so, but your son had other ideas. He chose to stay and offered to serve me in any way so long as he got to stay near you while you're here. As long as you're on this ship, he will remain on this ship, serving me," Derek leaned forward, " _in any way._ If you wish to keep him away from me, you should give me what I want so I have no reason to keep you here. Tell me about your rebel forces - their numbers, their disposition, their equipment, who provides your funding and supplies - and I won't need you here anymore. You can have a nice prison cell somewhere and Stiles will be free." 

Stilinski continued glaring. "Now I know you're lying. You wouldn't put someone like me in a prison cell. You'd have me tortured to death on a live feed for the galaxy to see." 

Derek considered what he'd just said, the offer he'd just made. Stilinski was right that his normal approach to a rebel leader would be a public execution, a message to the galaxy, but he'd offered a prison sentence instead without even thinking about it. The reason was Stiles. He didn't want Stiles to be hurt, so he would keep his father alive. How had he let Stiles get so far under his skin? 

He tried not to show any of this on his face and said simply, "If you give me what I need to stop your rebels, I won't need a public execution. You get to live. More importantly, your son gets to be free. I'll let you think it over." 

Derek stood and walked over to the door, touching his thumb to the access panel. The guard outside confirmed that the room was secure and opened the door for him a moment later. Derek left Stilinski to stew over his options, to consider the choice of revealing what he knew or letting Stiles stay here working for Derek. 

Derek found himself hoping that Stilinski wouldn't talk, though he wasn't sure what he would do next in that case. He didn't want to have Stilinski tortured because he knew how Stiles would react, but Stilinski's cooperation would mean Stiles would leave and he didn't want that either. It was difficult. 

For now, Derek would wait to see what Stilinski's answer was and in the meantime he could consider the answer he'd received from Liam earlier that day. He'd asked what would make work on this ship better and received an answer, so he would take some time to consider a way to grant that wish. 

He returned to his office and pulled up the search box on his computer, searching for information on planet leave for crew. The answer took some time to find because there were few results to his search. It seemed that the ship's crew, from the engineers to the security team to the officers, were not allowed to leave the ship. The only people who were allowed to set foot on a planet were the shuttle pilots and they only left on authorised resupply trips. Some of the security team could escort Derek when he made an official visit, and occasionally officers or administrators would be part of a visit party, but the ship might spend several days in orbit of a planet without more than three or four people ever leaving it. It seemed strange to Derek that the crew couldn't visit planets in their downtime, though the cost of shuttle fuel might be a part of it. Perhaps there should be an allowance of fuel removed from their pay if they went down on a visit. 

He considered handing this over to Stiles to investigate, but he decided it was better that Stiles not have any information on leaving the ship, so he dug a little deeper himself, until he found a file in the archives. It was a letter nearly two decades old, written from an administrator to Derek's uncle, back when he'd been working as advisor and administrator for Derek's mother. At the time, one of Peter's responsibilities had been traveling around inspecting the worlds within the empire and reporting back to Derek's mother, who had been overlord at the time. The letter had been written by someone on Peter's staff who had traveled with him on those journeys. The letter was twice as long as it needed to be because the author filled it with unnecessary grovelling and praise, but he proposed that crew be allowed to make short visits to planets in their downtime. He framed multiple benefits, with crew morale and fitness getting significantly less space than the fact the visits could be used as a reward system for good performance. _While offering excellent performance in service of the overlord or her family is it's own goal,_ the author had written, _it cannot hurt to provide additional incentive. Visits to a planet can be made available only to those who perform to the highest caliber in their various jobs or who show a special level of loyalty to your highness._

Derek wondered why the plan had never been implemented. Peter hadn't documented his thoughts, so it took some digging to find the official response. He only found it when he did some further digging into personnel records to find the man who'd written the letter. Two days after the letter was sent, Peter had personally put in a transfer order for the man, sending him to Afgurn. For a moment, Derek thought Peter had sent the man to be imprisoned in the labour camp there, but the truth wasn't much better. The man had been assigned a permanent admin posting to the military base that supervised the prison camp there, with no option for transfers to any other planet or ship in the empire. If the man were to leave his job, he would have to pay his own transport offworld, which would take a lifetime's worth of wages from a planet as remote as Afgurn. Peter had sent the man to a planet known for the toxic gases released from the mines simply for proposing an idea which, as far as Derek could see, had no downsides. 

The man had even proposed measures to help keep the ship secure, restricting what people could carry as they boarded or disembarked, scans of the crew as they came and went, and preventing the visits on any planet on which there were rumours of rebel activity. The man had put a lot of thought into how this would be plausible and as far as Derek could see, it would help the crew and improve job performance, so why had Peter acted so harshly in response? 

The only clue was a note on the transfer order, saying that if the man wanted to spend time on a planet, there were other ways he could have it without opening the overlord up to risk of rebel infiltrators. Had Peter genuinely believed the proposal was part of a rebel plan? This had all taken place years before the attack on the palace, before Stilinski had started his war. Had rebels really been so great a threat even then? Not for the first time, Derek wished his uncle were here to ask. 

He read the letter one more time and then stripped out all the sycophantic grovelling to leave only the useful information. He forwarded it to Erica and asked her to look into the security methods and give a verdict on whether the plan could be implemented without risk to him or the ship. 

He had real work to get on with. It was time to stop fussing with trivialities and deal with real problems. He had more military reports in of fleet movements that he needed to assess, but before he settled into that effort, he sent out a request for information to the Afgurn administration office, asking about the man Peter had sent there. Was he still alive after all this time? If he was, two decades on a place like Afgurn was probably more than enough punishment for the crime of offering an opinion to the overlord's brother. 

***

Stiles poured himself into the work he'd been assigned, trying not to think about his dad in that cell, locked in a tiny space with nothing to offer comfort. It was a miserable enough place even without the likelihood that Derek was even now torturing him for information. Stiles kept working, knowing that he would only be allowed to continue seeing his dad so long as he kept Derek happy with this work. He tried to push aside the hope that he could keep Derek from torturing his dad if he worked hard enough, because his rational mind knew that was basically impossible. 

At least he could be here to offer his dad comfort through his pain. 

So he reviewed lists of the mining companies in the galaxy and the various mines they operated. He split the mines by categories based on size, location, and what was being mined, and then ran some sampling algorithms to select at random a representative subset of each category. He ended up with nearly three hundred mines, which was large enough that the data shouldn't be skewed by any one mine's particular quirks, but small enough that it would be possible to analyse the resulting data in a reasonable amount of time. 

He looked up best practice guidance on how to write survey questions and put together his questionnaire to ask the miners their views on safety procedures and risks. He also looked up official guidance on ensuring anonymity, which he realised was complicated in his situation because he wanted to make the survey mandatory. If the survey gathered results from all participants and there was also a record somewhere of who had completed it then all someone would have to do was combine the date records to match the answers to the person who filled it out. Stiles ended up messaging Danny for advice and they had a long discussion about how to obfuscate date values and randomise the record order in the data storage to ensure that everyone's answers would remain private. 

He wrote up a proposal for how to ensure they got as many answers as possible, which included a vague threat about noting non-compliance on the records of anyone who didn't fill out the survey. Stiles had no intention of doing anything with that data, but it might be concerning enough to convince some people to fill it out. Stiles wanted to avoid any real penalties, like fines or legal consequences, because he doubted that anyone working in a mine would have much money to spare. Instead, he proposed a small bonus payment for everyone who filled out the survey. That ought to get them a good sample of data. 

Stiles sent all his information to Derek and then still had a little time before he was officially allowed to stop working for the day, so he started digging into news reports and official incident logs of accidents in mines. There were a lot, but for most of them Stiles could get very little information because all the mines were required to log to the authorities were that someone had been hurt and some very basic information. In most cases, the reports just gave the name of the person who had been hurt, whether the injury was one that would prevent them working or even lethal, and a responsibility field which in the vast majority of the reports said that the injured person was the one who was responsible for getting hurt. Only in the case of large accidents did the mining companies ever say that they were responsible, and even that was a rarity. 

Stiles wondered if the accidents really were the fault of the miners who got hurt, or if the mining companies just trusted that those injured workers wouldn't be able to avoid the lawyers to argue otherwise and claim whatever compensation payments they were entitled to. 

As soon as Stiles stopped working, all his concerns for his dad came flooding back. He sat down to his dinner, poking at his food and wondering if his dad was getting anything to eat at all. He tried to work himself to exhaustion in the gym so that he would be able to sleep, but all he could think about was his dad trapped in that tiny cell, barely able to take more than two steps in any direction. How long before his dad went stir crazy and started to deteriorate from lack of exercise? Stiles returned to his room and resigned himself to getting no sleep that night as he lay down on his bed.


	18. Chapter 16

Stiles set an early alarm on the computer he'd been given for his research, but he was awake before it anyway. He got up and showered and then went to get himself breakfast before the shift change when everyone else on the ship would be pouring into the canteen for their meals. He ate alone in a room that was strangely echoey without a hundred other people in here eating and talking. He ate quickly, barely tasting the food except to worry whether or not his dad had been provided anything, and then he headed for the cells. He reached the edge of his usually allowed territory just as the ship time changed to six and he was allowed to keep going, moving to the cell without an escort. 

The soldier standing guard outside the cell had clearly been told to expect Stiles, because he didn't hesitate to let him inside. As the door opened, the figure lying on the bench inside the cell jerked awake, turning towards the door. The fear on his dad's face relaxed a little when he saw Stiles, but only a little. 

"Sorry," said Stiles, walking inside, "I didn't mean to wake you. This is the only time of day they're going to let me see you." 

He wondered if that was part of Derek's evil plan, to make him complicit in his dad's torture by ensuring that he was sleep deprived from early morning visits. Stiles sat down on the chair that had been provided on this side of the barrier, hating the cushioned softness because he could see that his dad had nothing soft at all. He'd pulled his shirt off to use as a pillow, but that couldn't do much to ease his discomfort. It felt like this chair was a taunt, showing him something soft he could never use. 

"Are you alright?" his dad asked, sitting up on the bench. 

"I'm fine. Are you? What did Derek do to you?" 

"Nothing yet. He made some threats, mostly about what he'd do to you if I didn't 'cooperate'." He made a face at that word. "Why didn't you leave, Stiles? I wanted you far away from this." 

"I couldn't leave you with him to be tortured." 

"And you don't think it tortures me to see him hurting you? Using you?" 

"So far he's only used me for research. I'm currently looking into mine safety records of all things." 

His dad's expression didn't soften. "That would be more comforting if you hadn't started with 'so far'. He basically threatened to start raping you if I didn't tell him what he wants to know." 

Stiles tried not to show a reaction to that, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. He thought of Derek using him like that and felt like he needed another shower just from the idea of it. He knew that whatever happened wouldn't be tender and loving. No, Derek would be brutal in the bedroom as he was in everything else. He would take what he wanted from Stiles, leaving his hurt and violated. Stiles knew he'd offered himself, had been willing to pay that price if it meant staying with his dad, but he could still be terrified of the idea. 

Stiles wondered if he'd made a mistake in bargaining to stay. Would his rape be the thing that broke his dad? Would his presence make things worse instead of better? 

"Maybe it won't come to that," Stiles said. "It's not like he's showed any interest in me before." But for something like that, there wouldn't have to be interest. It would be more about power and control than about attraction. 

"What has he done to you?" his dad asked. It wasn't like they could talk about anything else in this cell, given that it was almost certainly bugged, so Stiles started talking about everything that had happened since he'd been taken prisoner by Derek. He left out no details, talking about trying to get a minor revenge by overusing water, which made his dad smile, and then how he'd asked for something to do and been given access to the library. His dad looked like Stiles was telling a horror story when he got to the part about being caught going through Derek's files, but Stiles pressed on, explaining that he hadn't been hurt and the deal that he'd made for his help with research. He shied away from the details when his story reached the punishment down on the planet. 

"I saw that," his dad said. "He broadcast the punishment and I saw you in the background." 

"At least you could see I was still alive." 

"I saw the way you reacted, how it hurt you to be there." 

Stiles couldn't say anything to that. Watching others get tortured and knowing that he had a hand in making it happen had been something he didn't want to experience ever again, even if the people being hurt had done horrible things. He pressed on, moving to the less painful aspects of the story, talking about how he'd been tasked with proposing changes to the food credit program. 

"I saw something about that," his dad said, "but I didn't pay much attention. There was a propaganda broadcast about how Hale was making major changes to the program but I didn't even watch it." 

"Because you'd just seen what you thought was him preparing to mutilate me." 

"What do you mean, 'what I thought'?" 

"He didn't actually torture me. He sure as hell made me think he was going to, but as soon as he stopped recording, he let me up. He wanted you to think I was being horribly injured but he didn't actually do anything. Not even when I punched him in the face." 

His dad's eyes widened, horrified. "You punched Hale in the face?" 

"Yeah. It was pretty satisfying, though I think it hurt my hand more than it hurt his face." 

"And he didn't do anything?" 

"He locked me in my room for a couple of days," Stiles didn't think he could refer to his room as a cell now that he'd seen the cell his dad was trapped in, "but even that wasn't too bad because Isaac stopped by with a game board right when I was starting to go stir crazy." 

"Isaac?" 

"One of Derek's personal security team. He has three people who specifically look after him wherever he goes, separate from the soldiers and security crew on the ship. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. They've been pretty decent to me, all things considered." Boyd had dragged him around a little bit early on, but none of them had really hurt him and they'd talked to him at meals and so on. He wouldn't consider any of them friends, but he didn't mind their company. 

"They gave you games to play?" Stiles' dad asked. 

"Yeah, and I'm allowed to use the gym to get exercise." He talked about the virtual reality pods and their simulated environments. He hoped his dad was OK hearing about all this, given that he was trapped in a tiny cell. Stiles wondered if he could negotiate gym time for his dad, but it wasn't like he had anything else he could offer Derek. He had no leverage here. 

At the side of the cell, there was an irritating buzzing noise and a small panel slid open in what had been seamless wall. Stiles' dad leapt to his feet and was at the panel in seconds, reaching inside and pulling out a small bowl. He caught Stiles' expression and explained, "I was a little slow getting the bowl out for one meal yesterday and it closed again." 

That answered the question of whether he was getting food, but when he sat down, Stiles saw the contents of the bowl. It was more of the mush he'd grown sick of so quickly when he'd first arrived here. He wondered about negotiating to get his dad better food. Since Stiles was now eating food at the third level, maybe they could do some sort of compromise and take the average so that he and his dad both got second level food. He doubted Derek would go for that idea either. 

"Are you getting enough food?" his dad asked. 

Stiles nodded. "Better food than you." It felt mean to say so, but given how worried his dad was about him, he'd probably be glad to know that Stiles wasn't eating that same tasteless fare. 

Stiles wondered if he could bring his breakfast here and share it, but there was no way for him to get anything past the barriers that bisected the room. He could ask. Maybe he would be allowed to share a piece of toast with his dad once in a while if he did a thorough enough job on his research. 

They talked a little more, with Stiles explaining the research he was doing, until his security cuff started making an angry-sounding beeping noise. His dad looked alarmed and Stiles quickly checked the time. He had five minutes before he was supposed to be working. If he was in this area after that time, the electric shocks would probably start because he would no longer be authorised. 

"Crap. I need to go. I'll see you tomorrow, Dad. Stay strong. I love you." 

He was already signalling to the guard outside the cell that he needed to be let out. For a moment, he had a horrible feeling that he would stay trapped in here and his dad would see him twitching on the floor in a few short minutes as the shocks zapped him into unconsciousness. But thankfully the door slid open and then Stiles was running to get back to his borrowed office before his deadline ran out. 

He arrived, breathless but with half a minute to spare, and found his research notes spread up on the projector as he'd left them. He tried to remember what his thought process had been like yesterday as he sat down and began to work. 

***

Derek went back to Stilinski's cell. He'd waited until the allocated time for Stiles' visits would be over before going in there and sitting down on the comfortable chair. Stilinski glared at him through the barrier. 

"I hope you enjoyed your visit with Stiles," Derek said. 

"Was that meant to be a threat?" 

The question surprised Derek. He hadn't meant it to be, but if Stilinski took it as one, that would probably help the interrogation, so he shrugged. If he kept his responses vague, he could let Stilinski's imagination do the work for him. 

"Are you ready to cooperate?" he asked. "Are you ready to give me information on the other rebels?" 

"You know I can't do that. I can't give you information you could use against the people who might one day stop your reign of terror." 

Reign of terror seemed like a ridiculous exaggeration of his period of ruling. Yes, he was firm, but he had to be in order to maintain control. His military force was necessary, as were the punishments for criminals. Allowing rebels and insurgents to get away with their violence would just lead to chaos and anarchy and yet more death, more acts of terror like the bombing of the palace. Order was better than the wild destruction that would come if humanity's selfish instincts were allowed to rule supreme without someone in charge to see that they remained civilised. 

But he heard those thoughts in an echo of Peter's voice, and he remembered what Isaac had said about his uncle brain-washing him. 

"What have I done that makes you think my reign is one of terror?" Derek asked. 

Stilinski gave a derisive laugh, but then he froze, staring at Derek as if he couldn't quite believe he was asking that question. 

"Are you serious?" he asked. 

"I want to know your perspective." It couldn't hurt to hear it. If it was the ravings of a fanatic, Derek would know he could safely dismiss Stilinski's opinions. If there were flawed arguments then perhaps Derek could convince him of that in order to get him to talk about his rebels. It might be that Stilinski blamed him for his uncle's actions, like the punishments for show even when the real culprit hadn't been identified, and Derek could convince him that he didn't always do as his uncle had done. But it was possible, however slim the chance might be, that some of what Stilinski believed might be valid. Derek could listen and judge for himself. 

"How about we start with the fact that you kidnapped an innocent teenager," Stilinski spat. 

"That was necessary for the greater good. Taking Stiles as a hostage prevented you from attacking my forces and preserved lives. Besides, I haven't treated him badly." 

"You've imprisoned him." 

"He has a comfortable room, good food, physical and mental activity to keep him occupied. He has a better life here than many people have." 

"You separated him from his family and threatened him with torture." 

"Only to try and keep you from slaughtering people in your bid to destroy civilisation." 

"Civilisation!" Stilinski scoffed at the word. "You mean a galaxy where only your military are allowed to kill, where your bullies and thugs can go around slaughtering at will but everyone else gets tortured for so much as trying to protect themselves." 

It was clear from Stilinski's vitriol and hyperbolic language that he was not prepared to have a reasonable conversation. 

"We'll talk again once you're calmer," Derek said. "You might want to consider refraining from exaggeration if you want me to take your points seriously." 

He stood and walked out of the cell.


	19. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the first hint of some of the other Teen Wolf characters...

The personnel records came through from Afgurn the following day, along with a note of apology explaining why it had taken so long for the files to be transferred to Derek's warship. Apparently the man in question had died eleven months previously, before the current admin staff had been assigned to this base, so it had been challenging to identify the right file, especially since the man had married another member of staff some time ago and taken his wife's name. He'd been living as Ken Yukimura for more than a decade before his death. What surprised Derek most though was that as well as the marriage information, the man's record also showed note of a daughter. 

Derek was glad that the admin officer who'd sent through Yukimura's file had seen fit to send through other personnel files in case they were wanted, so Derek didn't have to go to the trouble of requesting more. He found the details of the daughter, a teenager, who was still on Afgurn, listed among the base's personnel records despite not being part of the base's staff. Derek was horrified as he looked into the file and understood why. As a child, the girl hadn't been on the official personnel lists for the military base on Afgurn, so of course she wouldn't have been rotated off the toxic planet as the regular staff would have been. Her family would have needed enough money to pay for her passage off, which would have been next to impossible on the wages listed against their records, even if her parents were both alive. 

Derek checked on the mother's records. She had been part of the military rotation but had chosen to stay on the planet with her husband instead of being moved on to a more pleasant posting. Derek wondered if she’d come to regret that choice because there was a deceased marker in there too. She had died of lung failure due to the planet's atmosphere despite having a clean bill of health at her last check-up approximately two months prior to her death. The only explanation was a note in her file four days before her death of a punishment for distributing supplies to the prisoners in the camp without authorisation. What the punishment was, the file didn't say, but it seemed one hell of a coincidence for her to die only a few days after it. 

The man was dead, for nothing more than putting forward a suggestion that didn't seem to harm anyone. His wife was dead, for stealing supplies from a military base and giving them to prisoners. That at least was a crime that warranted punishment, even if it was unfortunate that the punishment had ended in death. But the daughter? She had committed no crime, done nothing to deserve a life of exile among prisoners. She had been born on a planet with a poisonous atmosphere and it wasn't her fault what her parents had done. 

Derek went back to her record and looked at it again. She'd applied for the military academy, no doubt because that meant she would at least get transport off Afgurn, but her application had been rejected on the grounds that it wasn't impressive enough to justify the transportation expense. Derek stared at these notes, thinking. He could overturn the rejection and see to it that this girl got military training, got a career and a chance at a future. But was that the right choice? After all, she was only going for the military because that was her only way off the planet. Did she actually want to serve? Maybe Derek should offer her options, like acceptance into a non-military school, or an industry apprenticeship. He considered the options he'd planned on giving Stiles, the potential for entry into academic institutions. Perhaps he could give this girl, Kira, a chance at something similar. She didn't have much of a past thanks to Peter, but Derek could offer her a future. 

While he wondered, he brought up the summary of the personnel deployed to the Afgurn prison camp, in case there were any other cases of interest. Most of the staff were military officers who were cycled on and off planet so that the majority stayed there for about a standard year and a half, but none more than two, short enough periods to avoid the long term damage exposure to the atmosphere would cause. But there were also some staff who were listed as permanent, who would remain stationed on Afgurn until they died or quit. Ken Yukimura had been one of these, but there were six members of the staff still assigned to the base and currently living. Derek wondered what they'd done to earn such a posting. Were their reasons for being there as flimsy as the reasons used to punish Yukimura? 

Digging into one of these records, he froze, seeing another listing for a dependent. There was a child, a teenage boy, who was listed on the base records as having a medical internship, whose wages were being offset against a long list of medical treatments for lung problems, which was hardly surprising since the records indicated he'd been on the planet for nearly a decade with his mother. Growing up in that atmosphere had obviously taken its toll on his body. His mother had been transferred to Afgurn with a seven year old child in tow. Who had authorised such a thing? 

Horrified, Derek went back into the other records, hoping not to find anything but searching anyway, in case there were other records of people who were neither prisoner nor military personnel, but children, trapped on an inhospitable rock through no fault of their own. There was one more record that appeared, another teenage girl who was living on the military base, despite the fact that her parents weren't there as staff and had never been. She wouldn't even have the opportunity to apply to the academy because Derek recognised her last name at once and knew that any intake officer would know it as well. 

Allison Argent. She was the daughter of one of those who had been behind the attack on the Bessum palace, and the niece of the other. This Argent was the child of the people who had planted the bombs that had wiped out most of Derek's family, killing his mother and putting Peter on the throne. 

Derek's whole being flooded with hatred at the sight of the name. He was glad that an Argent was suffering, choking on the atmosphere of a toxic world. But his eyes kept going back to the date of birth. She'd been a child when the palace had been bombed, too young to have been part of the conspiracy. Did she really deserve to die in a prison camp because of it? Peter had clearly thought so, but the Peter in the months after the assassinations had been full of fury, determined to send a message to every world from the core to the rim that such an attack would not be tolerated. He would have punished a child to send a message, whether she deserved it or not. 

Victoria Argent had tried to plead for leniency in her trial after the bombing, asking for mercy because she had a daughter. It seemed Peter's answer to that had been to punish the daughter too. 

He thought of the conversation he'd overheard, of Isaac hoping that Derek would be better than Peter. Stiles would no doubt call Derek a monster for even considering leaving the girl there. 

Derek tried to push the anger aside and think about this rationally, however difficult that might be. He gathered together the personnel files for the permanent staff, leaving aside the records for the three teenagers, transferring them over to Stiles' account. Then he put in a call to the bridge to change the warship's course. They were going to Afgurn. 

***

Stiles was failing to find patterns. He had the official records for thousands of mining accidents, from the ones that damaged equipment to the ones that cost hundreds of lives. Looking for patterns was a nightmare because the mines were all so different. A cave-in on a high-gravity world was a completely different thing from a tunnel collapse on an asteroid. Even on mines of the same type, there were variations, because some asteroids were large and solid enough to have the tunnels sealed and pressurised with breathable air, while others were mined in EVA suits. Some planets had pockets of flammable gases, while some had dangerous lifeforms. The only conclusion Stiles could draw from the data he had was that mines were dangerous, but trying to put rules in place that made sense for all of them would require so long to draft and finalise them all that the current miners would probably die of old age before they were done. 

He was still waiting on his survey results and had to fill his time with something though, because he didn't think Derek would be too happy if he caught Stiles messing around in the office. 

As if summoned by the thought of him, the office door opened and Derek walked in. 

Rather than get flustered about his lack of results, Stiles went straight on the offensive. "You can't expect me to have a magic solution for your mining problem yet because there hasn't been enough time for all the miners to fill out the survey." 

"I wasn't here to talk about the mines. I've transferred some files to you." 

Stiles checked, surprised to find he had an inbox on his computer that was hooked up to the ship's network. He wished he knew enough about computers to exploit that and hack into the rest of the ship, but for now he just opened the files. They were personnel records. 

"These people," Derek said, "have all been permanently assigned to the base attached to the prison camp on Afgurn. I want to know what they did to earn that posting." 

"You want me to find out what they did that was so bad they deserved a one-way ticket to the Poison Pit?" 

"I want to know if it really was that bad," Derek answered. 

Stiles had heard of Afgurn, all the rebels had. It was somewhere whispered about with fear as one of the reasons why the empire needed to fall and the place they all hoped they would never end up sent. Better to choke on vacuum than the fumes of the Poison Pit, he'd been told. The fact that Derek was looking into anything to do with that planet was horrifying in light of the prisoner on this ship. 

"You're not going to send my father there, are you?" he asked. He was ready to beg again if he needed to. 

"It's been a long time since anyone of authority inspected the military base there," Derek said. "I'm remedying that. It's a long journey to Afgurn. There are a few days for me to be persuaded about your father. One way or the other." 

The threat was clear. Stiles' dad might get sent to Afgurn to die a horrible death there, or he might not. It would depend on how the two of them behaved over the next few days - whether his dad talked, and whether Stiles did the work that was given to him. 

"I'll get right on the research," he said, starting to read before Derek was even out of the room. 

"Ask Lydia if you need help accessing any information," Derek said, and then he was gone, leaving Stiles to start digging into yet another mound of data.


	20. Chapter 18

Derek was learning to expect Stiles' efficiency, so he wasn't surprised to receive a message the next afternoon saying that he had answers about the Afgurn personnel records. Derek went to his office right away, because it was a lot more interesting than the budget review he was in the middle of. 

He found the office with files and records and notes hanging the air in every available space, lines of various colours linking them together in a web. 

"You said you have answers," Derek said. 

"Right. Some of this I've had to piece together from bits and pieces, and for other bits I got Lydia to pull files for me because I don't have the clearance, but I think I've got them all figured out. Let's start with this one. She was the easiest." Stiles touched a file and an image expanded, showing a dark-haired woman, the medical officer whose son had lung problems from being on planet with her. 

"Melissa McCall," Stiles said. "She was married to this guy." He touched another file and a photograph of a man flew up to be beside the first. "He works as an agent in Internal Investigative branch." That was a prestigious branch that oversaw disputes within the military and ran investigations into incidents that were reported. It was strange that the wife of someone so powerful would end up in such a horrible place. 

But Stiles wasn't done. "About seven years ago, standard measure, she asked for a divorce, which turned into a very messy custody battle over their kid. Lydia managed to get me some of the court transcripts. She claimed that he was abusive towards her and the kid, and even provided medical records of a head injury. He claimed that the head injury was caused by the kid falling down the stairs and nothing to do with him, and that she was delusional and therefore unfit to be a mother. Presumably, she was more convincing because she was given full custody of the kid and he was told never to see him again." 

"What's any of this got to do with Afgurn?" Derek asked. 

"Two days after the custody ruling, the II received an anonymous tip saying that Melissa McCall was forging medical records. Now, bear in mind that her record before this was spotless. She was getting commendations and all her superior officers said great things about her in her annual reviews." 

"Sometimes people can be very good at hiding their misdeeds." 

"Yeah, but do you know how long the average II investigation is into an officer's misconduct over something like this?" 

"I presume you do." 

"Fifty seven days. That's average. Some take much longer. Do you want to know how long the investigation into Melissa McCall took?" 

"I'm guessing less than that," Derek said. He was enjoying the animated way Stiles was laying this story out. 

"Five days. And the guy running the case was someone who'd been partners with Rafael McCall for about five years and stationed in the same unit as him for ten. From the pictures on social media, the two are good drinking buddies. So this woman splits from her abusive husband and wins custody of their kid, and a week later his good friend is finding her guilty of misconduct despite there being no evidence prior to this anonymous tip that she'd done anything wrong." 

"Can you prove any of this?" 

"Not with the information I've got. You'd need the II case file, the medical records that were supposedly forged, all stuff that I couldn't even convince Lydia to get me. I'm not sure I'd know how to find out about the records anyway. All I know is that it seems awfully suspicious, especially since Rafe McCall there send her a message as soon as the verdict was handed down, saying that he was appalled to hear about what she'd done and that he was happy to take custody of the kid so that he could have a healthier life... as soon as she was willing to beg him to do so. He sent that message _before_ she was demoted and the transfer orders were issued to ship her to Afgurn. And, since she had full custody of the kid, he would have to go with her." 

Derek had found Stiles' theory convincing enough, but the man sending that message before the orders were given was substantial evidence that the former husband had been pulling the strings behind the investigation. When they arrived on Afgurn, he would give the woman the news himself that she was allowed to leave. 

"What about the other cases?" Derek asked. 

There was a man who had made accusations of rape against his superior officer and been transferred for insubordination and defamation of character. 

"Was the superior officer a rapist?" Derek asked. 

"I can't prove it one way or the other, but my money's on yes," Stiles answered. He went on to talk about some suspicious medical records which the officer had ordered to be redacted and classified. There was an inventory error in the quantity of a post-intercourse contraceptive, but that could have been connected to consensual activities between personnel. There was no way to tie that to the officer who'd been accused, but Stiles had uncovered conversation logs were things were implied, and it was certainly true that the man had shut down investigations into the reports. 

Derek felt ashamed that such a thing could happen in his forces, that someone could be raped and then get punished for trying to bring the perpetrator to justice, but he supposed that with an army the size of his, these sort of outlier cases would happen. At least now, he could make some sort of amends. 

Stiles continue through the files. One man had been sent there by Peter for spilling a drink during a royal reception. Derek didn't like the utter loathing in Stiles' voice as he explained that, so they moved on quickly to another man whose trip to Afgurn had been ordered by Peter. 

"This is Bobby Finstock," Stiles said. "I like this guy. Used to be military trainer and fitness coach at one of your training camps, until he told your uncle to get his head out of his ass and stop listening to his own over-digested feces. I really wish your uncle hadn't ordered the security recordings destroyed because I would have loved to have seen his face." 

Derek had to admit he would have liked to have seen Peter's expression too. It was no wonder this man had been punished, but a life sentence to a place like Afgurn still seemed harsh for a single insult. Peter probably thought it poetic that a man who said something insulting would spend the rest of his life on a world that would destroy his lungs. 

It didn't take long for Stiles to reach the final file and bring up another man's image. 

"He raped and murdered children," Stiles said. "He should be locked in the prison camp, not guarding it." 

"He raped children? Are you sure?" He should have been court-martialed and stripped of his rank for that, as well as being punished. Getting a change of posting, even to a nightmare of a place like Afgurn, wasn't the proper procedure. 

"Pretty damn sure," Stiles said. "He was part of a force that raided a village on the Sicari Three outpost, looking for rebel forces that they'd heard might be hiding there. So the troops went in, spread their usual terror, and this guy found a trio of kids hiding in one of the houses. They were raped and then smothered to death, according to the local medic's autopsy, but the commanding officer squashed the official investigation to avoid a scandal and shipped the guy to Afgurn. The official report claimed that the kids were rebel insurgents and cited the evidence that they were hiding under the floorboards of the house, but they were kids. The youngest was eight years old." 

That did sound horrifying but Derek couldn't help wondering about one point of the story. 

"You're certain they weren't rebels," he said, "but then why were they hiding?" 

"Because the troops were searching the village," Stiles said, as though this were the only answer necessary. 

"But if they were innocent, they wouldn't need to hide." 

Stiles scoffed at that and then gave Derek a look that was surprised and mildly amused. "Wait, are you serious? You actually believe that?" 

"Of course. The military forces are there to stop criminals and to protect ordinary people." 

Stiles laughed. "Oh man. I knew you were pretty out of touch with the 'ordinary people' but wow." 

Derek bristled, wanting to argue with Stiles, to explain that of course his forces protected people. The laughter from Stiles, as though this was all so amusing, made him angrier than if Stiles had argued with him and insulted him like normal. 

"Just because the military have opposed you when you were a rebel," Derek said, "doesn't mean that the same is true for people who aren't involved in attempted insurrections." 

"Oh, please. Have you even seen one of your raids? The good ones are the ones where the military come in, steal a few things they like the look of in the name of 'evidence', wave their guns around to frighten people, but then leave without really hurting anyone. The more normal raids are the ones where the military come come in, steal whatever they like without considering whether the people can afford to lose it, and beat some people up for looking at them funny or just because they enjoy beating frightened people up. The bad raids," Stiles drew a breath as though bracing himself. "In the bad raids, the troops steal anything that isn't nailed down, smash anything they can't steal, and shoot the people who try to stop them or ask them to stop or who move too quickly. They'll announce afterwards that whoever got shot was a spy for the rebels and pat themselves on the back and then leave the people to starve because the troops stole all the food." 

Stiles seemed utterly sincere as he said this. Derek wanted to argue with him, to say that it wasn't like that. It couldn't be, could it? Surely if his troops behaved so freely, their superior officers would bring them up on charges? 

"Why doesn't anyone report it?" 

"To who? You can't exactly call the local deployment station and say, 'Hey, could you send some more troops in, we're being robbed. Yeah, the culprits are your troops'." 

"How many raids have you seen?" Derek asked, still hoping desperately for some way to believe that it wasn't as bad as Stiles made it seem. Maybe there were one or two cases of troops behaving with excessive force, but that didn't mean it was as rampant as Stiles was implying. 

Stiles shrugged. "There were about half a dozen raids that I was there for, but I heard about a lot more from other rebels, or saw the aftermath." 

"Well, if people were sheltering rebels, they were criminals." 

"Really? So if I'm hiding in the basement of a house and your thugs break into the neighbour's house and beat an old lady unconscious, that's OK because she's a criminal, because she happened to be in proximity to a rebel she didn't even know was there?" 

"That's... a very specific example," Derek said. Stiles' demeanour had shifted. He no longer found this amusing and was glaring at Derek. 

"Her name was Annabel. She was eighty three years old and sewed clothes for the poor kids so that they could have something respectable to wear to school and did repairs on personal computers for a bit of extra cash. Your troops broke her ribs so badly that one punctured her lung and she nearly died." 

"You seem to know a lot about her considering you said she didn't know you were there," Derek said. He was glad he'd found an inconsistency in Stiles' story, because it meant that maybe he was misremembering the rest too. 

"I met her afterwards! I stayed with her and helped her through her recovery after your troops left her bruised and unconscious in her house! She did nothing wrong and she nearly died, and that's just one example from a raid where I was actually there. What about all the raids where there weren't really rebels? There were places we'd never been that got raided and it didn't go any smoother for those people because they were innocent. The place that guy was raiding," Stiles jabbed his finger at the picture that had started this discussion, "there were no rebels there. Didn't stop there being six deaths which were all reported as being rebel casualties who'd fought rather than get taken alive. So, yeah, it doesn't surprise me that one of your soldiers raped and murdered a bunch of kids during a raid. What surprises me is that someone cared enough to arrange for his transfer to Afgurn as punishment." 

"You make it sound like everyone in the military is evil." 

"Maybe not everyone. I'm sure some people join up because it's the only way off whatever miserable lump of rock they were born on, but the whole system is corrupt to its core. The good ones either get corrupted by how much they can get away with, or they get punished for refusing to go along with the corruption." Stiles pointed at the earlier photo, the one of the man who'd tried to report his superior for rape and paid the price for it. 

Derek stared at the pictures. He didn't want to believe this, he didn't want to believe that the forces under his control were as bad as Stiles believed, but it was clear that there was corruption going on. Even if these cases were the worst of it, even if they were just a small sample of misdeeds from an otherwise upstanding core of officers, there was undeniably corruption and these few cases were a few cases too many. Whether the corruption was limited to this handful of people or as widespread as Stiles obviously believed, Derek wanted to do something about it. 

"How do I get rid of the corruption in the forces?" he asked. 

Stiles looked taken aback by the question. "You want me to give you a plan to deal with a system so corrupt that if you cut out the rotten parts the bits that were left wouldn't be able to hold together?" 

"You obviously care about this issue so help me find a solution." 

"This system is messed up in a fundamental way. It's going to take more than a few hours of searching records to come up with a plan." 

"It will be some time before the mine surveys come back. Use it for this." 

"Why do you ask for my help with things like this?" Stiles asked. "Why are you trusting me with issues this important?" 

Derek wasn't sure there was a simple answer to that question, but he tried to find an answer anyway. "Because you care. You want to make the galaxy a better place. Maybe you're naive or brainwashed by rebel anarchists, but you had some good points about the food credit program so you'll probably have some good points about this too. If I want to help my people, I ought to at least listen to those points."


	21. Chapter 19

Stiles started his research by hunting out information on historical military forces, thinking that there must be some organisations out there that had implemented measures against corruption. He dove into the library records, digging up proposals for reform and anti-corruption policies from police forces and military units from both the empire and the earlier records of the independent worlds that had been conquered and incorporated into the empire Derek's ancestors. He wasn't really sure where to begin with his plan for reform and this seemed as good as place as any to draw inspiration. 

But it was hard to focus on the words in front of him when he kept thinking of the conversation he'd just had with Derek. He also couldn't help thinking of the earlier conversation with Isaac. Isaac had called Derek a good man, or at least someone trying to be a good man. Stiles had scoffed at the time but now he couldn't help wondering if Isaac was right. Derek did care about his people. He'd accepted the changes to the food credit program, the more sweeping changes Stiles hadn't ever dreamed he'd go for, and he had seemed genuinely shocked to learn that his forces killed innocent people in their raids to hunt out rebel spies. 

Stiles didn't understand how a guy could rule the galaxy without understanding that a huge number of people in his military force liked waving big guns around and scaring people, that there were people out there who got off on the thrill of killing people and that the systems he supported allowed it to happen. He'd seemed appalled that innocent people might get punished by the guilty, but that was just the way the universe worked for Stiles. 

Stiles was forced to at least consider the possibility that Derek really was trying to help the people he ruled, he just had a really bad understanding of how to go about doing it. Like with the mining safety issue, he'd cared about keeping people safe but thought that the best idea was to talk to the leaders of the corporations. It was obvious to Stiles that that was a terrible way of going about things, but Derek had never worked a minimum wage job to scrape up a bit of extra cash to keep the power flowing while the CEO of the company spent his bonus on a new hologram garden. If anything, Derek would have seen that CEO at an event for flourishing businesses and talked about bottom lines and growth without caring about the people getting blisters on their hands working in the factory. 

Derek had been the ruler of the empire for about two standard years now, since the death of his uncle. His uncle had ruled with an iron fist, using the excuse of the assassination of his sister and the other royals to strip worlds of civil liberties and empower his armies with new authority, but it wasn't like Talia Hale had been much better. The entire family line had been involved in conquering worlds, stripping them of their resources, and leaving once-flourishing civilisations struggling through poverty and famine. But how much of that was Derek aware of? He saw the riches and the technology, the jewels and artifacts, and he saw all of that from a vantage point lightyears too far away to see the pain and suffering. Probably his family had given him some sugar-coated version of history and never mentioned that children worked in factories to produce the things he took for granted. 

Stiles wondered if he ought to sit Derek down and give him a basic lesson in reality at the bottom end of the economic scale. It was actually possible that Derek would even listen. 

For now though, he had work to do on the corruption issue, and started throwing notes up in the air around his desk. 

***

Derek returned to the cell. He wasn't entirely sure why at this point because he knew that Stilinski wouldn't talk without torture, and torturing him would probably mean Stiles would stop helping him. It was strange to realise that having Stiles helping him with research and strategic planning was more important to him than whatever critical information a rebel leader knew. 

Derek sat down in his chair again while Stilinski glared silently out at him. 

"Yesterday," Derek said, "we were having a conversation and you called my military forces," Derek paused, trying to remember the wording, "a load of thugs and bullies." 

"Yeah." 

"You suggested that they kill people at will." 

"So?" 

Like his son, Stilinski was acting like this was common knowledge, accepted and understood as truth. Yesterday, Derek had refused to listen, dismissing Stilinski's claims as too outlandish to be true, but now he'd heard Stiles' story about the woman getting shot, it was hard to be so certain. 

"My forces are supposed to strike fear into the hearts of rebels and criminals," Derek said, "not ordinary civilians." 

"Maybe you should tell them that." 

"How would you suggest I go about doing that?" 

"What?" Stilinski looked thoroughly confused. 

"If I wanted to have my forces doing what they were supposed to be doing and keep them from killing innocent people, how would you suggest I go about it?" 

"You want my advice on how you run your military?" 

"You've made it clear you aren't going to give me any information on your rebel forces, so you might as well give me advice on mine, as a military leader. Based on what you've seen of my military, how would you suggest I improve things?" 

"Why the hell would I give you advice on improving your military?" Stilinski spat. He seemed more confused than angry, which was understandable. Certainly Derek had never imagined he would have a conversation like this with someone like him. 

"Stiles told me a story," Derek said, "about a military raid hunting for rebel spies. He told me that my forces beat an innocent old woman to the point where she nearly died, and then they just left her." 

Stilinski nodded. There was no new confusion on his face, so presumably he knew the story in question. Just another sign that it was true. Derek wished he could doubt, wished he could believe that Stiles had exaggerated the story the way he'd accused his father of exaggerating. He had to face the truth that the soldiers who were supposed to keep order and maintain the law were going around terrorising people, injuring them and killing them, and this was met without surprise by the people who experienced it. 

"That shouldn't happen," Derek said. He met Stilinski's eye. "That's not the sort of thing I want my forces doing. How do I keep it from happening again?" 

He knew that his uncle would have been horrified to see him now. Peter always said that a leader couldn't afford to show doubt or concern. A leader had to be confident at all times, to act with certainty and resolve, and to never admit to lacking knowledge. A true leader certainly wouldn't ask for advice from an enemy, but that was exactly what Derek was doing, because he was acutely aware that he didn't know what was going on with his military. All he knew was that he couldn't allow this to continue. 

"Consequences," Stilinski said. 

"Consequences?" 

"If there's certain behaviour you want or don't want from your military forces, you have to give a very clear message about what that behaviour is, and then you have to make sure there are consequences if people don't follow your rules." Stilinski hesitated and then continued, "I don't mean torture. I mean a humane punishment, but something serious. Demote them, publically criticise them, remove privileges. If the behaviour's bad enough, refuse to tolerate them in your forces." 

It seemed so simple when Stilinski put it like that, but Derek knew that the real world would never be quite that easy. Besides, Stilinski wasn't done. 

"The rules have to be consistent," he continued, "all the way to the top. You can't have one set of rules for the people in command and another set of rules for those following the orders. If you want your people to act in a certain way, you need to act that way too. If you don't want your soldiers hurting innocent people, you have to show them that hurting the innocent is unacceptable by refusing to do it yourself." 

His gaze was cold and hard, meeting Derek's eyes and holding nothing back of the hate he felt. He probably thought that Derek was a hypocrite for caring so much about this after he'd kidnapped Stiles and threatened him with torture. Derek couldn't blame him, because he felt like a hypocrite. 

He got to his feet and said calmly, "Thank you for your cooperation." 

If anything, the anger on Stilinski's face grew deeper as Derek turned and let himself out of the cell. Stilinski was still his enemy, and he was still refusing to give any useful information on the rebels, but he still deserved something for this. Besides, it would make Stiles happy to see his father given privileges, and Derek found he wanted to make Stiles happy. He reached for his comms to call Boyd, ordering that he bring some of the ship's security crew and escort Stilinski to the gym for an hour so that he could get some exercise. He made a second call to Danny, ordering that he authorise Stilinski for level two food rations for three days. 

Perhaps if Stilinski got a taste of what cooperation could bring, he would be willing to relent and give some of the information Derek wanted. It was unlikely, but there was always a chance. 

In the meantime, Derek had work to do. As well as the usual tasks and reports and government reviews, he had to think about what message he needed to send to his forces about no longer tolerating abuses of power. He hoped Stiles had some good ideas, because Derek suspected that actually implementing the plan that Stilinski had made sound so simple was going to bring whole worlds of trouble. 

He remembered Peter's warnings. 

"A leader has to always appear strong," Peter had said on more than one occasion. "If you're seen to ask too many people for advice, people will think you can't make your own decisions. If you hesitate to deal out punishment where it's needed, people will think you're weak and take advantage, breaking the law and defying you at every turn. You have to make it clear every moment that you are the one making the decisions because as soon as your enemies think they can sway you, your power will crumble." 

Peter's voice came so often into his mind, telling him what he was doing wrong, pointing out his every mistake, and once again Derek couldn't help wondering if Peter was right. Was listening to Stilinski a mistake? Was listening to Stiles a mistake? The thoughts that sounded like Peter told him that he was letting the rebels win if he let them change how he ruled. But there were other thoughts, that reminded him of the way Stiles had believed he didn't care about anyone. Derek wanted to the worlds to know him as a good ruler, and that meant he had to listen to those he ruled.


	22. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter a few familiar faces.

Stiles found out that they'd arrived in orbit of Afgurn when Erica showed up to take him to medical. 

"What's this about?" he asked, as she led him through the ship, already worried because being taken off by the security team out of schedule seemed linked to bad things happening. Even when they didn't happen to him, he was forced to witness them. 

"We're about to take a trip to the surface of Afgurn," Erica said, perfectly calm, but those words made Stiles stop in his track, heart flooding with fear. He'd known he'd been researching the staff posted to Afgurn, but the reality of actually being here was another matter entirely. 

"He's not going to leave my dad on Afgurn, is he?" 

Erica flashed him a smile. "We haven't been given any orders about transporting your dad, but you need a shot of anti-toxin to prepare you for the trip. Apparently we should be in the base where they've got air purifiers, but Derek doesn't want to take any chances." This last part was said with another smile, and Stiles wondered if he was supposed to be flattered that Derek was giving him medicine to prevent the air of Afgurn from destroying his lungs. 

After Stiles and Erica were both injected with something, they went to get equipped for the trip. This time, no one bothered with extra security measures, but Stiles was handed a portable breather mask, just in case. The thing was thin and flexible enough to fold up into a small case and slide into his pocket. He could almost forget it was there, but if he needed to, he could pull it out in a second and strap it over his mouth and nose to keep the worst of the poison out. That appeared to be it for the preparations. 

"You're not strapping bombs to me this time?" Stiles asked. 

"No one's dumb enough to try and run away on Afgurn," Erica said. "You're definitely not." 

Stiles wouldn't want to run away on a planet like Afgurn, certainly, but it was his dad that was the bigger reason for staying and Derek probably knew that too. After all Stiles had done to stay on the ship, Derek probably wouldn't spend half a second worrying about Stiles trying to run away so long as Derek had his dad prisoner. 

They went to the shuttle bay and Stiles took a seat in Derek's private shuttle, across from Derek once again. 

"What's this all about?" Stiles asked. 

"You haven't worked it out?" Derek said, looking up from the tablet he'd been reading from. 

"Obviously its about the people whose personnel files you had me research, but I wasn't expecting a field trip. What are you planning?" 

"You'll see." There was a little smile on Derek's lips and he duck his head forward as he smiled, almost as though he wanted to hide his feelings from the world. There was nothing cruel about the expression. If Stiles were forced to admit it, he might even say that it was a little bit adorable, but it would take serious torture for him to ever say that out loud. Seeing that secret smile, Stiles found he wasn't at all concerned that this trip was going to be similar to his previous trip. The Derek in front of him wasn't the man who made a show of punishments and cruelty, but someone else entirely. 

The shuttle made the trip down to the planet's surface and the pilot guided them into a small docking bay, but then they had to wait for air processors to cycle out the air that had come inside with them and replace it with the clean and filtered air that shouldn't leave them with chemical burns on their lungs and toxins in their bloodstreams. 

By the time they were given the all clear, a line of people in uniform had assembled outside the shuttle, though Stiles noted that the uniforms weren't anything like as neat as those worn Derek's flag ship. These were ill-fitting and dirty, patched in places, creased in others. The commander saluted and the line attempted to stand to attention, but the effort just made the untidiness more striking. It seemed Stiles wasn't the only one who'd noticed, because the commander started by saying, "Your highness, it is a great honour to welcome you here. I apologise for the state of the base but we received no notice that you would coming." 

"That would make the surprise inspection considerably less surprising," Derek said. 

"Of course, sir, your highness." The commander looked so flustered that Stiles wondered if the man was considering going for a weapon and shooting himself in the head just to get out of this awkwardness. 

After a silence that went on a few moments too long, the commander asked, "Would you like a tour of the base?" 

"Perhaps later. For now, I would like to conduct interviews of some of your crew. Do you have somewhere suitable I could use to conduct these interviews?" 

"Of course, your highness. You can use my office, if you'd like. Or we have a conference room." 

Derek accepted the offer of the conference room because it was slightly bigger and Derek clearly intended to keep Stiles with him along with the security trio. The commander showed the way, while the rest of the crew exchanged nervous looks, no doubt concerned about the upcoming interviews. Derek settled himself in the middle of one of the long sides of the conference table and informed the commander that the first person he wanted to speak to was Melissa McCall. The commander hurried off and Stiles took a seat at the head of the table. Not knowing how long this would take, he didn't want to be standing through whatever meetings Derek had planned, and he liked the idea of taking a position at the head of a table that had the overlord sitting at it. 

The door opened a minute later and a dark-haired woman in medic uniform walked in. She stood to attention across from Derek, who waved her to a seat. 

"Sit down, Mrs McCall." 

"Thank you, your highness." She looked scared, but she was controlling herself well. Stiles had to admire her for that. 

"Mrs McCall, I understand you were assigned to your post here after an investigation by the Internal Investigative branch found that you had forged medical records." 

Her voice was carefully controlled as she said, "That was the verdict." 

"Some irregularities have been uncovered regarding your case," Derek said, "especially in light of the message your late husband sent you and the timing of that message in relation to the investigation's conclusion." 

She didn't say anything, but Stiles was watching the woman's face and saw the hope that grew there. She'd already guessed where this was leading. 

"I have ordered that your investigation be reopened. The new case officer may want to question you about the matter so it would be practical for you to leave Afgurn and be transferred to a more central base until a new verdict can be reached." 

"I have a son," McCall said. "He... He was exposed to a leak in the base's outer walls a few years ago and has lung damage." 

"So I have been told. I'm curious, given your late husband's message, why you chose to keep him here on such a dangerous world when his father had offered to take custody of the boy." 

"I offered Scott the choice. I would have sent him to his father if he wanted, but he said he would rather stay on a planet that was trying to kill him than go back to that man." 

Derek nodded. Stiles wondered what the point of that questioning had been. Had Derek been trying to find out if this woman had kept her son with her for selfish reasons? Had he been trying to figure out if she was a suitable mom? Whatever his reasons for the question, he seemed satisfied with the answer. 

"I saw that there were mentions of abuse in the divorce proceedings prior to the accusations against you. It may well be that your son's testimony is also required, so he will be transferred with you. It would probably also make sense to be sure that he's capable of standing up to a long questioning, so I will order a full course of lung regeneration for your son, at no cost to you." 

Derek said it like it was a purely practical concern, but Stiles didn't buy that for a moment and neither, it seemed, did McCall. She started crying. Stiles half thought she might leap across the table and try to hug her ruler. She restrained herself to just saying, "Thank you, your highness. Thank you." 

"What happened to you is not what should happen in a just system. I am simply seeing that things are put right." 

He dismissed McCall and she left the office, still trying to pull herself together. Derek sent for the next person on his list, having short conversations with the others who'd been sent here unfairly, before informing them of their transfer orders. One of them broke down in tears even more dramatically than McCall had and couldn't even make his words of thanks intelligible. Derek was smiling a little as the man left the conference room and Stiles had to wonder how rare it was for Derek to see the effects of good decisions. He probably only saw people when they were sucking up to him or trying to wheedle deals. The only times he got to see anyone else was when he was punishing them for something. Stiles wondered if the reactions today would make Derek more likely to do good things moving forward. 

The next person on Derek's list was shown into the room. It was the fitness instructor. The man didn't stand to attention like the others had, but looked severely across the conference table at Derek. 

"I hope you're not planning on making me cry," Finstock said, "because the last time I cried was when I lost my testicle and if you make me cry, I might have to chop off the other one just to save face." He said that like it was some kind of threat and Stiles really wasn't sure what to make of that. He caught Isaac's eye over Derek's head. Isaac was biting his lip in an effort not to laugh. Derek just continued with the meeting as though he hadn't just learned way too much about a stranger's testicles. 

"I understand," Derek said, "that you were sent here as punishment for telling my uncle to get his head out of his ass." 

"Sounds like something I might say," Finstock answered. 

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?" 

"He probably deserved it." 

"Told you I liked this guy," Stiles said to Derek. Derek ignored his comment too. 

"I believe you've been more than adequately punished for one off-hand remark. I am willing to transfer you back to a training facility to resume your former position as an instructor for cadets." 

"Great," Finstock said, with no enthusiasm. "So I get to go back to trying to teach combat skills to a bunch of poor saps who are going to die at the wrong end of someone's gun because some predatory recruitment officer convinced them it would get them a better life." 

"Don't you want the transfer?" 

"Of course I want the transfer. Anywhere's better than this festering stink pile. I'd just like an option better than training kids up to die." 

Derek seemed taken aback by this whole conversation. "People volunteer for service." 

"Not everywhere," Stiles said. "Some worlds use conscription to fill the ranks." His dad had been conscripted into military service for two years because their planet had been expected to meet quotas of people sent to support the empire. The fact that he'd been off fighting in Peter Hale's wars when Stiles' mom had died had probably played a major part in him getting involved in the rebellion. 

Finstock barely gave Stiles' comment a nod of consideration before he continued talking. 

"Even on worlds where it's not mandatory, it's not much of a choice when your options are starvation, sweat shops, or getting shot at," Finstock said. 

Stiles might have said something in agreement, but it was Isaac who got there first. "He's right. On some worlds, if you're poor, signing up for military service seems like the only escape." 

There was another awkward moment, then Derek attempted to regain control of the situation, saying, "Well, I will put through your transfer orders. If you wish to apply for another position, one that you prefer, you will be free to do so." 

He dismissed the man and then went down to the next person on his list: the girl Kira. She'd been born on this world, the daughter of a man who had been sent here on Peter's orders and a military officer who had broken protocol and shown mercy to the prisoners only to pay for it with her life. The girl looked about Stiles' age and she managed to nearly trip over her own feet as she came through the door, catching herself on a chair and then babbling an apology. She then apologised for the apology, saying she wasn't sure how to address an overlord. 

"How about you call me Derek," he said, no doubt attempting to calm her, but the attempt backfired. She seemed more nervous than ever at the thought of being on first name terms with the overlord. 

"Please, sit," Derek said, and the girl did, managing to sit down before she fell over again. Stiles had sympathy for her; she had to be imagining horrible reasons why she would be dragged before the ruler of half the galaxy. She might have seen the tears as people left here and expected something dreadful. 

"Your father," Derek said, "was exiled to this world because he did something to upset my uncle. Whether or not he deserved the punishment of exile here is irrelevant because he's dead and that leaves you here. You are not responsible for what your father did before you were born, so it would be wrong to have you bear your father's punishment so that he's gone. You shouldn't be exiled here." 

"You're going to transfer me away from Afgurn?" Kira asked. "To where?" 

"That depends. I understand you applied for military training." 

"I was rejected." 

"I can have that rejection overturned," Derek said, "and get you accepted into any military training camp in the empire. If that's what you want." He paused for barely a moment before pressing on, "But that's not your only option. There are a number of good schools if you want to continue your education, or I could arrange for you to be placed in a civilian apprenticeship in a career of your choice. This is your future. You should be the one to decide what you want it to be." 

Kira's eyes were wide with astonishment. Stiles was almost as surprised as she was. Kira's case wasn't one of the ones which Derek had given him to investigate, which meant that Derek had reached the decision to make this offer on his own, and his words were too calm and planned for him to have thought of these options on the spot, which meant he'd already decided to give her a choice even before Finstock's rant about kids going through military training only to die. Derek was trying to do something nice. 

"Do I have to decide now?" Kira asked. 

"You can take some time. You can transfer to my ship when we leave this planet and you can consider your options while we return to the central worlds. I can see to it that you have access to information about the choices available to you while you think things over." 

"Thank you, your highness." 

"You're welcome." 

She left the room grinning with excitement and Stiles couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy that she was having a bright future handed to her while Stiles was still a prisoner. It was petty, he knew, and he hadn't been forced to live his life on a dump like Afgurn and watch his parents die from its poison, so he knew he wasn't in a position to complain. He pushed the jealousy aside and focused on the next person to be shown into the conference room. She was another girl, about the same age as Stiles and Kira, dark-haired and pretty. Stiles didn't recognise her from the personnel files Derek had given him and she hadn't been in the line-up of crew earlier. 

Whoever she was, she clearly knew who Derek was, judging from the look of pure hatred on her face. She had barely taken two steps into the room when she leapt forward, jumping onto the conference table and lunging at Derek, a knife suddenly in her hand.


	23. Chapter 21

Everyone moved at once. Erica leapt at Derek, shoving him out of his chair and landing on top of him, covering his body with her own. Boyd and Isaac leapt at the girl. Isaac went for the weapon, grabbing her arm and twisting her wrist until she was forced to drop the knife, while Boyd tackled her, pinning her to the table. By the time Stiles had got to his feet, the girl was pinned down helplessly and Isaac was already reaching for a pair of security cuffs, linking the two bracelets to trap her hands behind her back. 

Erica waited for a nod from Boyd before she stood and held out a hand to help Derek up. Stiles had been shocked by the attack, and was still feeling that shock at how quickly it was over. The security trio must have drilled endlessly to move so smoothly, the three all acting together without anyone getting in anyone else's way. He moved around the table, getting a better looked at the girl's face as she glowered with fury. The knife lay on the table where Isaac had forced her to drop it. Stiles reached for it now, picking it up and testing the edge with his thumb. 

The knife was made of plastic, the edge blunt. Stiles suspected that the force needed to make this knife break skin was more likely to break the knife in two. 

"Stiles," Isaac said, holding out his hand. Stiles realised that he was a known rebel holding a weapon in the presence of the overlord and decided to hand the knife over before he got zapped. 

"I doubt she could have done any real damage with that," he said. 

"She attacked me," Derek said. "Attacking the overlord is treason." 

"And I'm sure she's very sorry about it," Stiles said. 

"You deserve to be gutted like an animal," the girl snarled. 

"You're not helping me make your case," Stiles told her. 

Derek frowned at him. "Why are you trying to defend her?" 

Stiles wasn't sure. Aside from understanding the inclination to attack Derek, he had no reason to put himself at risk by speaking up for someone he'd never even met. Whoever this girl was, she'd been sent to this planet for some reason and Stiles had no way to know if that reason was a good or a bad one. There was something about the way she hadn't hesitated to attack, even though she must have known how unlikely it was to do her any good, even though she must have known the inevitable cost. She must have been desperate to take that chance, or thought that this would be her only chance to get close to Derek. If Stiles had had a knife on him, even a plastic one, when he'd first been hauled before Derek, he might have attempted the same thing. 

"She must have reasons to want to kill you," was what Stiles said. Derek glared at him and then gestured for Boyd to ease up on the hold he had on the girl. Boyd moved back from the table, pulling the girl with him, and pushed her into one of the chairs. He kept a firm grip on her shoulders, holding her down, even though she was no longer trying to fight. She must have known her one chance had been lost. 

Isaac and Erica positioned themselves slightly in front of Derek on either side as he stared down at the girl. 

"Well," Derek said, "why did you try to kill me?" 

"You're the reason my mom and aunt are dead," the girl said. 

"Your mom and aunt," Derek countered, "are the reason my mom and aunt are dead, along with my father, my younger sister and brother, another aunt and uncle, three of my cousins, and about a hundred people who just happened to work at the palace." 

And suddenly Stiles knew who this girl was, or at least who she was related to. She was an Argent. The attack on the royal palace had been brutal, a series of bombs planted to kill the royal family, but big enough that they'd killed servants, security guards, administrators, and other people who'd just happened to be nearby. Stiles' dad had talked about the attack at the Bessum palace as being precisely the wrong way to run a rebellion. Peter Hale had taken over from his sister and used the attack to justify a whole range of security measures that had restricted freedoms on every world in the galaxy. He'd had people arrested and tortured because they'd been on the planet at the time, just in case they'd been involved in the plot. 

The Argent girl glared at Derek and said, "You're a tyrant. You deserve to pay for what you've done." 

"And what about what your family did?" Derek asked. "My little sister Cora was ten years old. Whether my mom had done something that made her worthy of execution is irrelevant, because a ten year old girl definitely hadn't. Cora was innocent and she was murdered. So were a lot of other people. Your mom and aunt were tried and convicted of those murders and they didn't even try to deny that they'd done it. It was my uncle who decided on their punishment, but he did what was right to punish people who murdered children in their beds." 

Stiles watched the staring contest between the two of them. It was the Argent girl who looked away first and Stiles had to wonder what version of the story she'd heard. Had her mom told her about their righteous attempt to rid the galaxy of evil dictators? It was entirely possible that they'd skipped over the less pleasant parts about slaughtering children. 

But this girl couldn't be much older than Stiles. She would have been a kid during the attack too and Stiles doubted she would have played a part in the bombing. Even if she had been pushed into it, she would have been too young to be held accountable. Maybe her family did deserve punishment, and Stiles would worry another time about whether a place like this should be inflicted on anyone, but she shouldn't be punished for the bombing. Presumably, given the earlier conversations and the fact that Derek had wanted this meeting, Derek thought the same. 

"If the punishment for trying to kill you," Stiles said, "is to spend a few years on this lump of rock, then she's already received a punishment. I mean, usually punishment comes after the crime, but you could just chalk this one up as time served and wipe the slate clean." 

Derek stared at Stiles again, disbelief on his face. "You want me to just let her go after trying to kill me? You probably want her to go and fight with the rebels because you want her to kill me." 

"My dad never liked the Argents or their methods," Stiles said. "I just think she's already spent, what is it, about six years locked up here? Seven? For a crime she can't exactly have been a mastermind of." He added to the girl, "No offense, but I doubt you were planning military strategy at your tenth birthday party." He turned back to Derek. "You should cut her some slack." 

He stopped talking when he realised how severely Derek was staring at him. There was something different in that expression now, something intense, like Derek thought he could bore a hole in him just from the force of his scrutiny. 

"Your father knew Kate and Victoria Argent?" Derek said. So that was what the expression was about. Derek was making a link between Stiles' dad and the people who had been responsible for blowing up most of his family. Stiles hurried to correct the assumption before Derek decided that his dad needed to be punished for the bombing too. 

"Not them," Stiles said. "There are other Argents. Gerry something? Gerard, that's it. He was the dad of one of the people behind the bombing. He had a son too, I can't remember his name. I never met them. Dad had a meeting with them about potentially pooling our efforts but it never worked out because of fundamental differences in methods. You know, the whole letting kids die as collateral damage thing, my dad wouldn't stand for that. This would have been a couple of years after the bombing so Dad knew what they were capable of." 

Stiles stopped talking but Derek was still staring at him. 

***

There were other Argents. This fact shouldn't surprise Derek, but somehow it did. Even the knowledge that Allison Argent must have had a dad somewhere along the lines didn't prepare him for the idea that there were others in that family, others who presumably felt the same way Kate and Victoria Argent had, going from the way Stiles was talking. And if they'd met Stilinski to talk about combining efforts then that meant that the Argents who were still out there were probably still fighting. 

Derek's mind went back to the conversation with Lydia, to her belief that it hadn't been Stilinski behind the last attack on his forces. Could that attack have been orchestrated by the Argents? What about other attacks over the years? Derek, and Peter before him, had always operated on the assumption that the rebels were a single group. There might be factions and disagreements within that unit, but he'd always trusted that they were still fundamentally one force. What if that was wrong? What if Stilinski led one group and the Argents led a completely different one? 

He knew he was making wild speculations, but it was possible. If Victoria and Kate Argent hadn't been the only ones involved in the plot to blow up the Bessum palace, then justice hadn't been completed with their imprisonment here. Had Peter known about this? Was that why Peter had sentenced them to a slow death on Afgurn instead of a public execution? Perhaps he'd been hoping that the other Argents would launch a rescue attempt so that he could capture the rest of them. 

Derek looked at Allison Argent, a teenage girl who looked half feral with her hatred of him. Beside her, Stiles was arguing for her life. Maybe he felt sympathy for the girl, seeing the similarities in their situations, since they were both children of rebels. 

Perhaps that similarity was the answer to the situation. Derek didn't particularly want to have this girl executed because she had suffered for years and watched her family die, which was reason enough to make anyone lash out, but he could hardly just let her go, having seen how she behaved. But as a hostage, she could be useful as Stiles had been. Maybe her father or grandfather would make an offer to protect her like Stilinski had tried to protect Stiles. 

"Boyd," Derek ordered, "arrange for her to be transported up to the ship and secured." After a moment's consideration he added, "Have her given a room in crew quarters rather than the cells, but she's to be confined to her room for a week for trying to kill me." 

"You want her on the ship?" Boyd asked. From the expressions of the others in the room, he wasn't the only one confused. Even Allison looked confused beneath the layer of hatred. 

"What are you going to do to me?" she demanded. 

"That depends," Derek said. "I did intend to transport you to a central world and release you, but that's not going to be an option if you try to kill me. For now, you will be a prisoner on my ship." 

He didn't mention that he would be trying to send a message to her surviving family. She didn't need to know that. Perhaps if she was given enough time to cool down, she might start to see he wasn't an evil monster who deserved to be slaughter. He didn't dare hope that she would turn out to be as useful as Stiles had, and he rather feared that her influence on Stiles might be a disaster, leading Stiles even deeper into the hatred he felt for the empire. But Derek's only other options were leaving Allison here or killing her, and he didn't think Stiles would like those options any better than he did. 

As Boyd hauled Allison from the room, Stiles looked at Derek and said, "Thank you." Derek shot him a puzzled look and Stiles continued, "For not killing her." 

"I didn't do it for you," Derek said. 

"Then why?" Stiles asked. 

"Because she didn't deserve to be sent here for her mom's crimes. She might not have been in the camps, but she was still a prisoner here and that wasn't right. I do care about right and wrong, you know." That last part came out sounding harsher than Derek had intended but for once Stiles didn't respond with more anger. In fact, he looked away, seeming almost ashamed.


	24. Chapter 22

Derek was in meetings with the commander and senior staff at the Afgurn base, and he hadn't wanted Stiles there, as he put it, making rebellious remarks through the proceedings, so Stiles had been given the freedom to wander the base as he liked. He was warned not to go outside or into the areas with the prisoners, but since those were also the areas with toxic fumes, Stiles wasn't too inclined to go there. 

He wondered about trying to find the armoury. This place was the administration centre for a prison camp, so there had to be weapons here somewhere. Maybe he could steal something and smuggle it back to the ship. Maybe he could find something that would help him rescue his dad. 

But if there was an armoury here, it was behind one of the doors that required an access card to open and no one had given him one of those. Probably to stop him finding weapons. 

He wandered past offices and sleeping quarters, through a canteen and a rec room, into a gym that was nowhere near as well equipped as the one on the ship. Nothing here seemed particularly well equipped. The machinery was old and broken, the paint on the walls was dirty, furniture was scuffed, and an air vent cover was dangling from its place in one corner of a room. The whole place had a tired, bedraggled feel, as though no one cared about making it more tolerable. Stiles suspected that most of the people sent to work here were simply counting the days until they could leave. Those of them that could leave. 

Which would be quite a lot more of them now. 

Stiles was still surprised about how that had happened. He hadn't tried to convince Derek to free the people trapped on Afgurn, hadn't even known that there were staff here who were prisoners as much as those held in the cells and labour camps until Derek had given him the research to do. Derek had found out about this on his own, albeit with a little bit of help from Stiles, and came to the conclusion that these people needed help. 

Stiles remembered the conversation he'd had with Isaac, just prior to his dad's capture. Isaac had said that Derek was a good man, or at least trying to do the right thing. Derek hadn't even wanted to hurt the Argent girl. Yes, he'd had her sent to the ship as a prisoner, but Stiles knew from his own experience that being Derek's prisoner on that ship wasn't all that terrible. Chances were, it would be better than whatever life she could have had on this dump. Stiles was pretty confident that Derek wouldn't torture her. He hadn't tortured Stiles, despite promises to do so, and despite Stiles punching him in the face. For all his threats, Derek hadn't even tortured Stiles' dad, who was a known rebel who had fought to have him deposed. 

Maybe Derek didn't like torture. 

Stiles had always figured Derek was some evil sadist because of the brutal punishments he ordered against those who opposed him, but what if he didn't actually like those punishments? What if, as Isaac suggested, he just did them because he'd been brainwashed into believing that they were his only option? 

Maybe if Derek could be persuaded to do the right thing for his people by reason and words, then his dad's rebellion wasn't actually necessary. 

It felt like a betrayal to even think that, but the thought crept across his mind nonetheless. 

He tried to push the thought aside, glad of the distraction when he heard voices coming around a corner up ahead. Two people stepped into view. One was the girl, Kira, whose parents had been staff here before their deaths, and the other was a dark-haired boy of around the same age. From the records he'd viewed, Stiles guessed this was the son of Melissa McCall, the boy who'd been sent here because his father was an abusive asshole. The pair stopped in their tracks, staring at Stiles. 

"Hi," Stiles said. 

"Hi," the guy said back. Kira looked about as nervous as she'd been in the meeting with Derek. 

"Are we supposed to bow or something?" she asked. 

"Why the hell would you bow?" 

"I don't know. You were with the overlord." 

Stiles guessed it must have looked like he was part of the inner circle, sitting at the conference table beside Derek. He shook his head, quick to disabuse them of that mistaken notion. 

"I'm his hostage," he said, raising his hand to show the security cuff as evidence. The two looked thoroughly puzzled, and Stiles couldn't blame them. It would be hard to explain why he was here on this planet if he was Derek's prisoner, especially since he wasn't under guard or about to be locked up with everyone else. 

He shrugged and added, "I'm Stiles." 

"Kira. This is Scott." 

"Hi," Scott said. 

"So what do you do for fun around here?" 

The answer, it turned out, was not much. The base wasn't exactly equipped with entertainment facilities, so they ended up back in the rec room. They each took turns sitting out while the other two played on a strange game that was obviously homemade. The game involved hitting a small ball towards targets using paddles that were manipulated using elastic cords, while the other player tried to defend their targets with their own paddles. It took Stiles a while to get the hang of controlling the paddles, so it took him three losses to realise that there was another reason he was losing. 

"This game isn't level," he said. "It's tilted slightly towards my end." 

Kira and Scott started laughing. 

"You figured it out quicker than I did," Scott said. "I'd been here a week before I realised why Kira kept winning, and that was only because Kira was so bad at lying about why she wanted that end. Even Allison took a couple of hours to figure it out." 

"Allison?" Stiles said. "As in Allison Argent?" 

Stiles wasn't sure why he was surprised that the three hung out and played games together. He supposed that she wouldn't have been treated as a prisoner because it had been her mom and aunt convicted of the bombing. Even though she'd been sent here, it wouldn't have made sense for her to have been put with the prisoners. If these three were the only people their age, then they would have hung out together. 

"Do you know where she is?" Kira asked. "She didn't do something silly like try to punch the overlord in the groin or something?" 

"She tried to stab him," Stiles said. He wished he'd found a less abrupt way to phrase it when he saw the worry on both of their faces. 

"Derek had her transferred to the ship," he went on, "but she'll be OK. He hasn't hurt her." They didn't look convinced. "It'll be fine. He didn't do anything to me when I punched him in the face." 

Their eyes widened. 

"You punched the overlord in the face?" Scott said. 

"He has a very hard jaw." 

Stiles tried to distract them from worrying by bringing them back to the game. When they swapped ends the game was more evenly matched, but Stiles was still at a disadvantage because the others had a lot more practice at it. They had to stop when Scott had some sort of attack, his breath coming in wheezes that clearly weren't giving him enough oxygen. He pulled some kind of inhaler from his pocket and breathed the contents, which seemed to help, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to be up for anything physical for a while. The three of them moved to sit on a lumpy couch and Stiles gave in to his curiosity. 

"How did your lungs get damaged given that the base's air is all filtered?" He knew that small quantities of the toxin could get through the filters, which was why long term life on this planet wasn't healthy even for those who got to live inside the military base, but that didn't explain Scott's wheezing. 

"The base is old," Scott said. "Half the equipment is falling apart. I was messing around in a utility room by the edge of the base and bounced a ball into a water pipe in the heating system. It knocked a valve control loose and the pressure sent it through a window. Outside air rushed in and I got badly exposed." 

Stiles didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for, "That sucks." Scott nodded. 

At least the damaged would be fixed now. Derek was going to pay for his treatment and he didn't need to do that. He'd decided to do something to help Scott, even more than just reopening the case on his mom and transporting him away from this planet, and Stiles couldn't see any way that this would benefit Derek. This wasn't a political act. He wasn't spinning this for propaganda. He was simply helping because he saw injustice done and because he could, just like he was doing for Kira and the others who'd been exiled here unfairly. 

Stiles thought again of the conversation he'd had with Isaac only a few days ago. Isaac had said that the politics and punishments were the things Derek did because he felt like he didn't have a choice, but saving someone on a whim because he saw them getting hurt was who Derek was. He remembered his own words, how he'd said he'd believe it when he saw it. He guessed he'd seen it now. Maybe Derek did these things to ease the guilt about everything else he did in his life. Or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as evil as Stiles had always believed him to be. 

He thought back over the time he'd been Derek's prisoner, seeing it all in a new light. Derek hadn't hurt him, even when Stiles had expected him to. He'd shown moments of kindness, like giving him the book to keep him from getting too bored. He'd cared about Harris hurting people, and let Boyd take Stiles out of there when the punishment was upsetting him. He'd intended to set Stiles free, even going so far as to offer fuel and supplies, when there had been nothing to force him to keep his bargain with Stiles' dad. He'd even shown mercy to Allison after she'd tried to kill him. He was a human being, with a heart and with feelings like anyone else. Yes, Derek did things that Stiles found abhorrent, but he wasn't some being of pure evil. He wasn't a monster. 

"Are you OK?" Scott asked. 

Stiles wasn't sure how to answer that. 

"You ever have one of those moments when you have to re-evaluate every opinion you've held as fact?" 

Scott looked at him blankly. "No." 

"Well, I'm having one of those moments." Stiles wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next. Realising that Derek wasn't the ultimate evil was one thing, but that didn't mean he knew what to do with the knowledge. He was still Derek's prisoner, as was his dad. The empire was still corrupt and cruel, leaving billions of people suffering under oppressive leadership. There were still problems that needed fixing, but maybe Stiles was exactly where he needed to be to fix them. The mining safety regulations, the food credit program, the problems of military corruption, all of these topics were things he could talk to Derek about, offer advice on. He didn't think he could just say a few words and make all these problems go away, but it couldn't hurt to try. 

And the fact was, Derek wanted to try. Despite everything Stiles had believed about the man, despite everything his family had done and his uncle had tried to shape him into, Derek wanted to make the universe a better place. Stiles intended to help him do that, not as a bargain or because of his dad, but because he wanted to do it. Stiles wasn't sure this changed anything given his current situation, but it felt like a change. Even if the only thing that had shifted was his attitude, he was sure it was a shift in the right direction.


	25. Chapter 23

Derek stood on the observation deck and stared out at the planet, or what he could see of it through the haze. A pale mist hung in the air, obscuring the distance and making details vague and difficult to distinguish. The base overlooked a mine, a huge pit that was being worked at by the prisoners here. On the other side of the pit, barely more than grey squares in the distance, were the low buildings where the prisoners slept and ate, some little more than shacks. 

Derek could just about make out the masks that the prisoners wore, simple filters that covered the mouth and nose, ridding the air they breathed of the worst of the poison, but given everything else Derek had seen here, he doubted the quality of those masks and he doubted the effectiveness of any filters on the buildings. The guards who patrolled the edges of the pit had better masks, and theirs included face shields that covered the eyes as well, but Derek wouldn't have wanted to be out in that toxic mist with so little protection. Even with the masks, those people were being exposed to poison with every breath they took. 

He wondered what the average life expectancy was of a prisoner on this planet. Kate and Victoria Argent were both dead, and they'd been sent here after the bombings six years ago. Was six years normal? Or did the prisoners usually last more than that? Or less? 

The mine itself looked primitive, with the prisoners working with hand tools. Even hauling loads out from the pit was done by brute force, with the workers hauling on pulleys to lift their output to the surface level. Derek supposed this was part safety precaution and part punishment. After all, the mine existed more to torment the criminals who'd been sent here than for the ore that was extracted, and giving the prisoners access to high-powered cutters or vehicles was opening the military base up to unnecessary risk. Still, watching those people toiling away, it was hard to imagine how exhausting it must feel to work so hard when they couldn't even breathe properly. 

He wondered if they all deserved to be here. He hoped they were all like the Argents: killers who would bomb children while they slept. He wasn't as confident of that as he might have been only a few weeks ago. Having seen how much injustice had slipped into the bureaucracy of his military, he couldn't help worrying that the court system and criminal proceedings might have just as much corruption. 

He knew though that he couldn't go through every record himself. He remembered one of Peter's lessons. They'd been playing chess, a game Peter enjoyed because it required the use of strategic planning, but half-way through he'd turned the game into a lecture. 

"People think that being a leader is like playing chess," he'd said, "you have your sixteen pieces and you can see the other sixteen pieces, and you have to plan your strategies around all of them, but it's not like that at all. Instead of controlling sixteen pieces, you're controlling sixteen players, who are each controlling sixteen other players, and they're the ones controlling the pieces. If you focus too much on any one game, on any one move, you lose sight of all the others, and you can't afford to do that, because that's when one of the pawns gets to the other side of the board, gets power you weren't expecting, and stabs you in the back." 

Metaphor and dramatics had merged together, but Derek understood the point Peter had been trying to make. If Derek started focusing his attention on the prisoners here, on their individual cases, he would be ignoring what was going on across the rest of the galaxy. He'd already allowed himself to be distracted by Stiles and he knew he had to start focusing again on the bigger picture. He couldn't forget this planet and its problems but he couldn't deal with them personally. 

He would need to delegate to someone else. He had ideas of things that needed to change, but he would have to rely on someone else to actually make those changes. Perhaps he could authorise an investigations unit to go through the cases of convicted criminals to look for instances of injustice, corruption, or verdicts that were handed down in error. 

He also needed to make sure that no one got sent to planets like this on permanent postings. Perhaps a new regulation for military postings could limit any placement on planets seemed so physically hazardous. He would need to talk to the military leaders about that. He had already been planning on meeting with General Deucalion about the issue of corruption in the military, so he could put this subject on the agenda as well. And then they could talk about the maintenance budget. A boy had nearly lost his lungs or his life because the equipment on this base was woefully under maintained. There had to be money in the budget for repairs. Derek remembered the last budget from Deucalion had included a lot for research projects that had yet to show any sort of promise. There had been something about genetic research to try and clone better soldiers, people who would follow orders better and heal faster and be stronger than normal humans. The idea sounded wonderful in principle but funding had been going into that research for years with no sign of any progress, so perhaps it was time to divert some of that money into keeping the basic equipment working on the more remote bases. 

As the list grew in Derek's head, it was clear that he wasn't going to do much for this planet while he was standing here. It would be much better for him to leave and try to organise things from afar to make this place better for everyone here, maybe even the prisoners too. 

He turned to Erica, "Round up the others. It's time to go back to the ship." 

***

Stiles spent the journey back up to Derek's warship worrying about his dad. Derek hadn't said anything about leaving his dad here and Stiles didn't want to bring up the subject in case he'd forgotten about the threat. But what if another shuttle had landed on the planet while Stiles had been distracted playing with Scott and Kira? What if his dad was being transferred down to the planet even as Stiles was being moved back up? 

Stiles tried to remember the conclusion he'd reached, his knowledge that Derek wasn't a monster, but that knowledge warred with the returning doubts and it was hard to feel anything except fear when his dad was at stake. Logically, he didn't think Derek would have done it. His dad still hadn't given any useful information and Stiles was still providing assistance with research, so keeping his dad on the ship made the most sense. Stiles clung to that thought and tried to push the worries aside. 

The journey up to the ship was tense for everyone, except perhaps Derek, who sat there reading from his tablet as though there was nothing in the universe to be concerned about. The people who were being brought up from Afgurn were clearly terrified or overawed from being in the presence of the overlord, so they didn't so much as whisper to each other. The security trio were eyeing everyone, which was hardly surprising given how close Derek had come to being stabbed earlier. 

All in all, it resulted in a suffocated air inside the crowded shuttle so Stiles did what he always did when he was nervous and uncomfortable: he talked. 

"I feel like I should start singing or something to break the tension," Stiles said. 

Derek didn't even look up from what he was reading. "Please don't." 

"A bit of stand-up comedy?" Stiles suggested. "Who's heard the one about the fish in the EVA suit?" 

While Stiles started on the joke, Derek pretended not to listen, but Stiles saw a little twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was amused by this. 

Boyd, it seemed, wasn't. He said, "Why don't you try playing the fun game of 'shut up, Stiles'?" 

"I prefer playing games I have a chance of winning," Stiles said. "How about eye spy?" 

"Do you like having your eyes?" Derek asked. Not long ago, that threat would have been terrifying, but the threats had lost their edge now, partly because Stiles knew his research was too useful to Derek for him to actually put out his eyes, but also because of that little mouth-twitch which suggested Derek wasn't entirely serious. It was an expression that did a great deal to rid him of his fears. So Stiles played along. 

"I like my eyes," Stiles said. "I think I have lovely eyes. One of my best features." He leaned forward in his chair, across the gap that separated him from Derek. "Look deep into my eyes and tell me that they're lovely." 

Derek glanced up from his tablet for just a fraction of a second, meeting Stiles' eyes and then looking away. Stiles was close enough to see a faint touch of colour on Derek's cheeks, just a pinkish tint on skin that was pale from too much time under the artificial lights of a ship and not enough time on the surface of planets. Was that a blush? Was Derek blushing because Stiles made a joke about his eyes being lovely? 

That was absolutely ridiculous because there was no reason that a comment about Stiles' eyes being lovely should make Derek blush unless... unless Derek actually did think they were lovely. 

If Derek really did think that Stiles had nice eyes, that blush and his averted gaze would make sense. Stiles couldn't think of any other reason why Derek would blush. There had to be another reason though, because this made no sense. Derek had never shown the slightest sign of interest in Stiles, the slightest hint that he found him attractive. 

It was Erica who broke through the awkward silence, saying in an almost exasperated tone, "If I tell you your eyes are lovely, will you shut up about them?" 

Stiles glad of the comment because it let him regain his composure and turn the moment into something lighthearted again. He turned and flashed a smile at her. 

"Why thank you, Erica. You have lovely eyes too." 

"I have lovely everything." 

He let the subject drop, filling the silence with meaningless chatter until it was time for the shuttle to go through docking procedures again. By then, the act of having to sit in the same seat for the duration of the flight had somehow rendered him exhausted, so he decided to just head back to his room and get some sleep so that he could wake up at least feeling vaguely human for his regular visit to his dad in the morning. It was only when he was back in his room that he realised he still had the portable breather mask tucked into his pocket. By then he was too tired to care. He would give that back to Erica on some other occasion. For now, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed. 

***

Derek was immensely glad when the shuttle finally docked and he was able to walk away from Stiles and his awkward, almost flirtatious comments. He wasn't sure how Stiles being deliberately irritating had suddenly shifted into whatever the hell that had been, but he was glad it was over now. 

He left the shuttle and headed towards his office, intending to get another hour or so of work in and start planning out what he needed to do to start an investigative group who could look into the trial records and prison sentences of criminals for anomalies. He barely noticed one of his security team falling into step behind him, being so used to having a bodyguard. But then Erica spoke. 

"So... boss." 

"Yes?" 

"Do you think Stiles has lovely eyes?" Her tone was light and teasing, suggesting that she knew the answer already and the knowledge delighted her. 

"We're not having this conversation," Derek said. 

"I don't blame you. He's pretty cute. A little uncoordinated, but a lot of fun. You've gotta love that smart mouth he has." 

Derek kept his eyes fixed straight ahead because he didn't dare meet anyone's eyes right now. He hoped his face wasn't giving anything away, because he really had thought more than he should about that smart mouth. 

"Erica. Stop talking." 

"Why? This is all perfectly normal. There's nothing wrong with feeling attracted to the guy." 

"There's everything wrong with it," Derek snapped. He felt one smart remark away from punching Erica through a wall but she didn't seem to get the message that she should stop talking. 

"Why?" she asked. 

He stopped walking and finally turned to face her, glaring into her face. 

"Because he's my prisoner! Because he offered himself to me to protect his dad when there were tears pouring down his face! Because he hates me and thinks I'm a monster, but he'd probably say yes anyway if I asked just in case it helped his dad. He could get on his hands and knees and beg me to take him, and it would still be rape because I hold his life and his father's life in my hands and no consent could ever be free of coercion. So shut up and never mention any of this again, because nothing is _ever_ going to happen between me and Stiles. Do you understand me?" 

He was looming over her now, glaring into her face from too close a distance to be comfortable for her as he poured all his anger and frustration out in his words. Erica took a step back. 

"Sorry, boss. I won't mention it again." 

"Good." 

Derek turned again and stalked off in the direction of his office.


	26. Interlude 3

Noah was woken by the cell door opening. This was his usual method of waking up now and he didn't mind it, since there wasn't much else to do in this cell except lie around and sleep. Aside from the uncomfortable bed and worrying about his son, he'd probably slept more here than he had in years. The same didn't seem to be true for Stiles. This morning, he had dark shadows around his eyes and looked like he was ready to collapse. 

"Are you alright?" Noah asked. "What happened?" 

"Huh? Oh. I'm fine. Just didn't get much sleep last night. We had a little field trip to Afgurn and we didn't get back until late." 

"Afgurn?" Stiles had said it so casually but the name sent fear through Noah's heart. He'd heard so many stories about that place and the thought of Stiles being on the Poison Pit, even temporarily, was horrifying. "Are you alright? Do you have any chest pains? Any shortness of breath?" 

Stiles' voice had sounded perfectly fine, but Noah wasn't a medic. He didn't know how much damage a single day on that planet could have done, or how long it would take for the effects to show himself if he had traces of poison in his blood stream. But Stiles seemed taken aback by the questions, as though he'd never even considered he'd receive them. 

"I'm fine," he said. "We were in the base the whole time. I was breathing the same, filtered air as Derek. They even gave me a portable breather mask in case of emergencies, which I really need to give back to Erica at some point." 

Noah felt the worry start to ease just a little. 

"If you weren't there in the camps," he asked, "what were you doing there?" 

"Helping people who'd been unjustly punished, if you can believe it," Stiles said. He sat down across from him and started to tell the story of his research into the personnel records and Hale's meetings, the way he'd offered to take from there a handful of soldiers and staff who had been posted there as punishment. Noah noticed that Stiles didn't mention anything about Hale helping the prisoners in the camps, those whose suffering had to be a thousand times worse than those on the military base. Of course there would be no justice for the people choking to death on the planet's fumes. 

"It got a little exciting when Allison Argent tried to stab him," Stiles continued, his words making Noah sit up a bit straighter. It took him a moment to place the name. Allison Argent wasn't one of those who had been tried and convicted of setting the bombs that had blown up the overlord's palace, but Noah remembered Gerard Argent mentioning something about a granddaughter stolen by Peter Hale, yet another proof that the Hales were evil and that the one who had replaced Talia seemed to be even worse than his predecessors. 

"What did he do to her?" Noah asked. He'd never agreed with the Argents' methods, never believed that some level of innocent casualties was acceptable, but the Hales didn't have his compunctions. Anyone who would be willing to punish a child for a bombing she couldn't have played a part in, or kidnap a teenage boy as hostage for his father, was not someone who would hesitate to give a brutal punishment for an assassination attempt. 

"Nothing yet," Stiles answered. "He brought her to the ship. I was going to try and find her after I'm done with work for the day, see what's going on with her, but I don't know if they'll let me talk to her." 

"Won't that stop you?" Noah nodded to the security cuff on Stiles' wrist. 

"It depends where she is. Derek had them put her in crew quarters instead of a cell like this, so she might be within my range." 

"They'd really let you walk around looking for her?" 

Stiles shrugged. "I guess I'll find out." 

Stiles talked a little more about this experiences on Afgurn, about the people he'd met there and the offers of restitution he'd made to some of them. He talked about the woman who'd been sent there by an abusive husband and the man who'd accused a superior officer of rape and how all of these people were now on board the ship, being transferred to somewhere better. 

"I don't think he's all bad," Stiles said. "He helped Kira without having anything to gain from it, offered to pay for her education and everything. I think he's not as bad as we think he is." 

Noah had to wonder if that had been what Hale hoped to gain from this meeting, swaying Stiles to his side and, through him, influencing Noah. The whole thing could have been a show, an act of manipulation, like his conversations about reducing the corruption of his military forces. They had no reason to trust that any of it was genuine. Even if it was, that didn't change all the harm the Hales had done over the years and all the harm that Derek Hale continued to do. 

"No human being is ever completely evil one hundred percent of the time," Noah said. "Even the most horrific people in history can show friendliness and compassion to people that they like, or show mercy when it doesn't cost them anything. A few good deeds can't change the weight of a lifetime of evil." 

"I guess," Stiles said. Noah wasn't sure he was convinced. He couldn't help worrying that he was losing his son. He was so close yet he seemed to be slipping away with every minute spent under Hale's influence. He once again found himself wishing that Stiles had just left when he'd had the chance, because losing him to Hale's brainwashing seemed almost worse than losing him in other ways. Here was Stiles, who had always been so outspoken, so sure of right and wrong even when he was flaunting the rules, bending and considering Hale as somehow acceptable. He was working for him, helping him, and maybe Stiles had good intentions with all of this, but how long would it be before he compromised himself in some unthinkable way? 

"You have to remember what Hale's done," Noah said. "Think about his policies, about how he's hurt people. Think about the raids and the military control. Think about what he's done to you, and what he's threatened to do. He threatened to rape you to hurt me." 

"I..." Stiles didn't finish that sentence. From the look on his face, he had forgotten that last point. He looked away and nodded, but there was still doubt on his face. 

When Stiles left, hurrying off when his bracelet beeped so that he didn't get hurt, Noah still felt that worry that he was losing Stiles. Even the reminder that he could get electrocuted for being in the wrong place didn't seem to have changed Stiles' opinions of Hale. 

Almost as though summoned by the thought of him, Hale walked into the cell a few minutes after Stiles had left. He sat down across from Noah, and Noah waited for whatever lies or threats were to come out of his mouth. Would he point out that the could have left Stiles on Afgurn? Would he threaten Noah with the same? 

Instead, Hale said, "Stiles let slip some interesting information yesterday, more than I think he realised." 

So that was why Hale was playing nice with Stiles, to try and get him to slip up and provide intelligence accidentally. Thankfully, Stiles didn't know too much about the inner workings of the rebellion, though he probably knew more than he should. He'd always had a tendency to poke his nose in everything and anything, regardless of whether he ought to. Noah waited to hear what it was Stiles had let slip. 

"I want to talk about the Argents," Hale said.


	27. Chapter 24

Derek looked across the cell barriers at Stilinski, but the man didn't say anything, probably not wanting to give anything away that Stiles hadn't already. 

"Stiles said," Derek went on, "that you disagreed with the Argents' methods." 

Stilinski glared at him. "I don't murder children." 

He said it in an accusatory tone, as though Derek was a child-murderer so Derek felt compelled to say, "Neither do I." 

"Your policies do." 

Derek thought of the mistake he'd nearly made with the food credit program and decided not to argue on that point. He got back to the point he'd been trying to make. 

"You came to my uncle's attention with the rebels a short while after the attack on the palace. We only had a little understanding of the internal ranks of the rebel forces, and didn't know much about most of the key players, but it was clear that the Argents were rebels and so were you. You all had the same goal of removing my family from power. It seemed obvious that you were the successor to Victoria and Kate Argent." 

Derek knew he was breaking Peter's rules in a big way, admitting that he'd made a mistake, that he hadn't known something. He was giving away a key weakness to an enemy, as well as giving away insight on his current knowledge, but he felt like it had to be done. He needed to make Stilinski understand why he'd been so determined to stop him. 

Stilinski didn't say anything, obviously not wanting to give away anything to his enemy. He was doing better at following Peter's rules than Derek was right now. 

"You told me that the attack I was going to punish Stiles for wasn't your doing," Derek continued. "Were the Argents behind it?" 

There was another pause, during which Derek started to believe Stilinski just wouldn't say anything at all and this was going to be a very one-sided conversation. Then he said, "I don't know." 

"Would you guess that it could be them?" 

"I wouldn't want to make a guess about a subject like this." 

Derek supposed that was fair enough. Stilinski thought Derek was an enemy and he wasn't going to push him towards another group without certainty, even if that other group was one he disagreed with. Derek considered what to say next and decided once again on breaking Peter's rule about admitting ignorance. 

"I believed that the rebels were a single organisation," he said. "There have been a number of attacks over the years, some against military targets, others acts of terror that hurt innocents. We believed that they were the work of a single group. Your group." 

"Are you saying you don't believe that anymore?" Stilinski asked. 

Derek shrugged. "You tell me. Were they all by your group?" 

There was another long pause. Derek stayed quiet, staring at Stilinski, determined not to be the one who broke the silence first. He started counting inside his head as a method of maintaining his quiet. He wasn't going to be the one that broke first, even if he had to wait through an hour of silence. Thankfully, it didn't take that long. 

"Unlike you, I don't hurt innocent people," Stilinski said. 

"But the Argents do. This other rebel group, whether they're led by the Argents or not, they do. I understand why you won't give me information on your forces, but would you consider giving information on them?" 

It was hard to tell whether Stilinski's silence was hesitation or stubborn refusal. This time, Derek pressed on. 

"The Argents killed a lot of people when they bombed the palace on Bessum, including my ten year old sister Cora, but she's not the only child who's been killed in rebel attacks. There have been several over the years. Not long ago, there was a rebel attack on the government building in Classin's capital, which as well as housing the local governor and her staff, also served as a venue for celebrations and function. Seventy three people died whose only crime was attending a wedding in the building. Two of them were infants." 

"You thought I was behind that attack?" Stilinski sounded both angry and offended. 

"I did. That was the attack that made me decide to try and use a different method to stop you." 

Understanding showed on Stilinski's face. "The attack was three weeks before you sent your troops to kidnap Stiles." 

Derek nodded. He'd believed Stilinski to be a violent criminal, killing anyone who got in the way in his efforts to overthrow the empire's rulers. He now believed otherwise. He'd had Lydia go back over the data from all rebel attacks, looking at the ones where they knew or were very confident that Stilinski was involved and comparing those to others. She had concluded that the attacks they knew were Stilinski's work were the least bloody of the lot. There were some she wasn't sure about, because most of the attacks were against military targets, but she had said that they couldn't say either way about the most brutal attacks, the ones that claimed civilian lives. 

"I know you want me gone," Derek said. "You want me out of power. That makes you my enemy. But there's someone else out there, someone who doesn't hesitate to kill even when innocents will die. Whoever that person is, they've been content to let me blame you for their actions. They're not going to stop just because you're locked away. They will keep attacking and more innocent people will die." 

Stilinski looked away. Something had shifted in his demeanor and Derek thought he'd got to him. 

"I don't know if the Argents are behind the other attacks," he said. "We've never worked together or shared information because Gerard Argent and I disagreed about their methodologies." 

"But you know which attacks were by your forces and which weren't. If I show you a list of all known rebel attacks, you can tell me which attacks you had nothing to do with. My analyst can review the data and see if it gives us any insight into where this other group is based." 

"Or where my forces are based," Stilinski pointed out. 

Derek had to concede that point. Stilinski was too smart to buy it if Derek tried to lie. "Possibly, but my priority is stopping the group who slaughter innocent people. Stopping your people would be secondary to that." 

"I'm not going to put my people at risk." 

"Then you're putting everyone else at risk. This other group will attack again and more innocent people will die. If you do nothing to stop them, then part of the blame for that is on you." 

"Just like if you do nothing to stop children starving across half the galaxy, the blame for that is on you," Stilinski said. 

"I did something to stop children starving," Derek said. "Even now, the food credit program is being rolled out across the empire, with increased payments to ensure that the poor and stick won't starve." 

Derek's answer seemed to take Stilinski aback. He paused for a moment, but this fact clearly didn't diminish his sense of righteous anger. 

"Your empire is still corrupt and full of inequality," he said. 

"I'm working on the corruption, but it's not an easy problem to solve." 

"You really expect me to believe that you're trying to make the galaxy a better place after everything your family has done?" 

"I'm not my uncle. I'm not my mother or my grandfather either. I've been in power for two years and unraveling centuries worth of corruption and injustice takes time." 

Derek wasn't sure if Stilinski believed him. He wasn't sure he believed himself. He knew that people like the Argents had been fighting against his family for years, so presumably they and those like Stilinski had thought his mother just as corrupt and evil as Stiles though Peter had been. Derek wasn't sure, but he couldn't hold on to the faith now that they'd been good people. Just because they'd been good to him, didn't mean they'd been good to the people they'd ruled. He was willing to acknowledge that, and he was willing to attempt to fix things, but the universe was a complicated place. Whatever Peter's faults might have been, he'd understood that. Derek felt like he was playing a very dangerous game, because every step he made towards creating a galaxy more to Stilinski's liking would mean angering a lot of people who had more power than Derek cared to go up against. 

He stood from his seat. 

"I'll leave you to decide whether to help me bring child-murderers to justice," he said, and started for the door. A part of him hoped that Stilinski would call out after him, but he didn't, so Derek left him to stew. Maybe he would decide to help find the Argents, maybe he wouldn't, but either way Derek had to deal with the Argent he had close at hand. 

Walking away from the cell, Boyd and Erica fell into step beside him. He kept them with him when he went to the room that had been allocated to Allison Argent. He unlocked the door and let his security guards precede him into the room, keeping between him and the girl who sat on the bed. She glared at him but didn't try to attack him today. 

"Hello, Allison," he said. She glared up at him. "I want to talk to you about your actions yesterday. Why did you try to kill me?" 

"Because you're a tyrant. You're the reason my mom and aunt are dead." 

"I didn't sentence them to imprisonment on Afgurn, my uncle did." 

"You're the same as him. You're a monster." 

"How do you know that?" 

Derek suspected that this conversation was going to go nowhere. He'd asked the commander on Afgurn about her and apparently she'd been allowed to see her family occasionally when they were done with work, meaning she'd grown up with them feeding her their ideologies from inside the prison camp. They were unlikely to have mellowed after their capture, and it seemed they passed all their hatred on to this girl. Derek wasn't sure it was possible to get through to her, to make her see reason, but he also wasn't sure what to do with her. Showing her mercy would be seen as weakness, especially since she had tried to kill him the moment she saw him. But was it right to continue to punish her because her family had brainwashed her? 

"You're a tyrant," Allison said. It was the word Stiles had used so many times. Having heard it before didn't soften its sting. 

"I was sixteen when your family murdered mine," Derek said, "about the same age you are now. My brother and sister were younger. None of us were tyrants then." 

"You were going to be." 

"So your family believed they were justified to punish us before a crime was committed, just in case? Do you know who also thought that was sometimes justified? My uncle." 

Allison glowered at him. "My family were nothing like your uncle." 

"I suppose I can't know for sure. I never met them. They'd never met me before they decided to try and kill me. Just like you didn't. How can you know someone deserves to die before you've even met them?" 

"By seeing the sort of things they do," Allison answered. "Like locking people up on planets with toxic atmospheres when they're innocent." 

"Again, it was my uncle who sent you to Afgurn. I was there to set you free, to undo the wrong he did you." 

She continued to glare. "I'm sure you had some evil motive for that." 

"My motive was trying to be a better leader than my uncle. I'm not trying to be a tyrant, Allison. If my uncle was wrong to punish you for your family's crimes, then you were wrong to try and punish me for my uncle's." Admitting that his uncle's actions might have been considered crimes didn't seem to soften her in the slightest. He supposed it would have been too much to hope that a single conversation would change her entire point of view, a point of view cemented by the deaths of those she'd loved, but maybe over time he could convince her he wasn't a monster. 

Not that such a hope had worked where Stiles was concerned. 

"As punishment for trying to murder me," Derek said, "you will be confined to this room until further notice. You will be allowed out to use the bathroom and for one hour of exercise each day, during which time you will be escorted by one of my security team. I will see to it that you are given reading materials and similar to occupy your time." 

He walked out and Allison didn't say another word. He could practically feel the force of her glare in the back of his head. 

"Not to criticise, boss," Erica said, once the door was closed behind them, "but there are going to be logistical issues if you expect us to escort her around, and let Stilinski use the gym, and play babysitter to Stiles, while still protecting you. Either you're going to have to give some of this work to the ship's security detail or you're going to need to hire someone else onto the team." 

She was probably right. Derek trusted these three with tasks like this, but he was spreading them too thin and they deserved to have their downtime between shifts. 

Boyd nodded his agreement, but he put in, "Just don't give the job to that jackass Lydia used to date." 

"I think his name was Jackson, not Jackass," Derek said. 

"I stand by what I said." 

Derek smiled and said, "I'll add it to my to do list." 

A list which seemed to get longer every day.


	28. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this fic, I didn't expect to be writing quite so many long arguments about economics and mine safety. I feel like I ought to be apologising for the amount of time Stiles and Derek spend debating policies instead of all the pining, fluff, and smut that one might normally anticipate in a fic.

The first batch of survey answers were back from the miners, with a large enough volume of responses for Stiles to start pouring through them, looking for patterns. He had another conversation with Danny, getting his help on keyword matching and synonym linking to identify trends across the hundreds of free text responses without Stiles having to read through them all one by one. After a few hours, he started to see the connections that hadn't been obvious when he'd been merely looking at accident statistics. He found himself uncovering an answer that spanned the different types of mines, but the more evidence he found for his answer, the more he realised the problems that went alongside it. 

This wasn't going to be fixed by some new rules about inspections or safety equipment. The solution was going to take something a hell of a lot bigger than a change in mining regulations. He could see what needed to be done, but he was pretty sure Derek wasn't going to like it. 

He sent a quick message to Derek, saying that he hadn't got a shiny presentation yet but that he had found a pattern behind the mining accidents. He was unsurprised when Derek showed up at the office a few minutes later. He wondered if Derek was bored doing whatever the hell he did when he wasn't dealing with Stiles, or if this information really was this important to him. 

"Well?" Derek asked. 

"They're tired," Stiles said. "It's a common thread across all the mines, but it's especially an issue on space-based mines, or mines where the atmosphere is lethal and the mining companies have to supply oxygen. The miners are working double or triple shifts on a regular basis and they're not getting enough sleep, so they're making mistakes. That's why so many of the accident reports say that it was the miner who was at fault, because it most likely was. They'd been awake for two days straight and so they slipped up, or fell asleep at the controls of heavy machinery. That's the problem. That's why the accident rates are so high." 

"So we make regulations limiting the number of hours miners can work, especially when dealing with heavy equipment," Derek said. 

"That's what I thought at first. It's the obvious answer, but it's not that simple, because these people are working themselves to death on long shifts for a reason." 

Derek raised an eyebrow in question, prompting him to continue. 

"It's all about the money," Stiles said. "The mining companies pay bonus wages to people who work two or three shifts straight. The miners need that money. A lot of them are supporting families, or paying off debts, or saving up to buy an education to work somewhere less likely to kill them. This guy basically spelled it out." 

He brought up one of the survey results where a guy said in a few simple sentences that people made mistakes because of the long shifts and everyone knew it, but no one would suggest cutting back on the shifts because everyone had mouths to feed back home. 

"These people are working double shifts because they have no choice," Stiles said. "And the companies like it when people work double shifts because it saves them money." 

"You just said they pay them more for the second shift," Derek said. 

"It's not just about wages. On, let's say, an asteroid mining operation, the company will have to provide EVA suits, oxygen supply, food and water, living quarters, all the stuff to keep everyone alive. If all the miners are working double shifts, they need half as many people and so half as many supplies, so even paying the overtime wages, it costs them less overall. It's less of a thing on planetside operations where the atmosphere is breathable, but food costs and living space and so on generally make it work out cheaper to have fewer people paid a bit more. Even when you factor in the cost of accidents, spread across all the facilities, for the big companies averages balance out and its in their best interest to have a few exhausted people instead of a lot of well-rested ones." 

Derek considered Stiles' words. 

"So if I tried to regulate this, tried to make sure that the miners had enough sleep, then the mining companies would be set against it because they would make less profit, and the miners would be set against it because they won't earn enough to support their families." 

That was basically the conclusion Stiles had reached. "You try and fix this problem and you'll just end up with everyone hating you." 

"There's nothing new about that," Derek muttered. He stared at the samples of survey answers that were still hanging in the air over Stiles' desk, in which people talked about tiredness. He didn't seem like he was going to say anything else. Stiles didn't want him to decide that this wasn't worth dealing with. 

"Your only option," Stiles said, "is to force the wages up as well. If the miners can earn enough that they don't need to take double shifts, then the mining companies will bring in more people to cover the gaps, and everything will be safer. Double the wages, half the shifts, and everyone will be a hell of a lot safer." 

"I can't do that," Derek said. 

"I know that it will cut into the mining companies' profits, but I looked up the numbers. The biggest companies made billions of credits in profit over the last cycle. There are planets with annual turnover smaller than some of these companies. I haven't done Lydia-level calculations on the numbers, but they'd still be able to do good business if they had to make these changes. Some of the smaller ones might struggle a bit but most of them would be fine." 

"It's not that simple," Derek said. "You act like I can just wave my hand and make all of these changes, but I need these companies. They supply the raw materials for building my ships, for repairing infrastructure across the empire, for manufacturing. If I were to force this change on them, they would push back in any way they can, forcing up prices to drive repair programs to a halt, shutting down mining operations for materials we need. When Sparton needed raw materials for infrastructure repairs after their quakes, I negotiated the deals on the prices of shipments and delivery. If I hurt the whole industry in such a major way, I'll destroy any goodwill I have. No one will be willing to bend on negotiations ever again." 

Stiles hadn't thought about it in those terms. He'd known that the people in charge of the big mining corporations would be upset, but he didn't really care about them because they had enough personal wealth to fund major cities and chose to keep it to themselves. He hadn't thought about the impact on future deals for Derek, how difficult it would be for him to negotiate with people after he'd slashed their profits in half. But Derek wasn't done talking. 

"It would have a knock on effect. They would put prices up, which would hurt other industries and they'd all blame me for it, until everyone who leads a company across the whole galaxy would consider it better for their business if I were dead." 

He said that last part with complete seriousness, as though this really was a matter or life or death to him. 

"It's not like they'd actually kill you because you raised wages and hurt their bottom line," Stiles said. It felt like Derek was making excuses. As serious as he sounded, and maybe he really did believe this would threaten his position, he was still backing away from the responsibility to do the right thing for his people because he was afraid of losing what he had, because he was afraid of upsetting people who had more money than they could spend in a lifetime. 

"Not directly. Think about it, Stiles. these companies control the raw materials for ship building, for weapons manufacture, for anything and everything manufactured. They can make it a hell of a lot harder for me to keep my military supplied, my ships maintained, and the government-sponsored programs in operation. I'm already fighting a war with rebels. All it would take would be for one or two of these companies to start discretely channeling funds and equipment into the hands of your father's forces for me to have a much more dangerous fight on my hands and less weapons to fight it with." 

"But it's not like those companies would want someone like my dad taking over." 

"Oh, they'd help your dad's forces kill me, but they'd have their own candidate waiting and ready. They'd be prepared to move the second I was dead to put someone new on the throne, someone who wouldn't do something as foolish as hurting them in their bank accounts." 

"You make it sound like this is all a foregone conclusion," Stiles said. "You make it sound like these companies are the ones really in charge. You have authority to make things better for people. You should use it." 

"I'm trying to use it, Stiles. I'm trying to use it in ways that won't result in me getting killed and replaced by someone who won't try at all. Being a leader isn't all speeches and addresses and sending messages. Most of what I have to do involves dealing with these sort of people. Harris wasn't an anomaly. He's the sort of person I have to have calls with every day to negotiate deals and organise policies and I'm already seeing the fallout for taking out Harris. It's a lot harder to deal with people who are afraid I'm going to steal all their assets and publicly humiliate them." 

"And torture. Don't forget the torture." Stiles wasn't sure what made him throw that into the conversation. 

"I want to do the right thing, Stiles," Derek said, "but every decision I make has a knock on effect that bleeds into everything that I have to do. Peter could handle all these tangled threads of influence and see how making one deal over here would make someone else change their mind about something over there. Pushing on the mining issue would be a disaster. You said it yourself, it would hurt the miners as much as everyone else. I have to find some other way to handle this and I can't see it." 

It was strange, hearing the way Derek talked. When Stiles had first come here, Derek had been an imposing figure, seeming so sure of himself, issuing orders as though he didn't have the tiniest hint of doubt about what he was doing. Now Stiles suspected that the impression Derek was trying to portray was lightyears away from the reality of his situation. He didn't just have a hint of doubt. He had a whole mountain of doubt and the act of confidence was a facade over the top, so thin that it could shatter and leave him with nothing but uncertainty and fear. 

Stiles felt strangely privileged to see this side of Derek. He doubted many people would get to see it. He felt a strange urge to comfort him. He reached out an put his hand on Derek's arm. 

Derek looked down at it, staring at the hand like it was a foreign invader. 

"I'm taking my hand off," Stiles said, quickly snatching it back. Derek still stared at him and Stiles felt an urge to apologise. A few minutes ago, he'd been angry at Derek for making excuses, but now he thought he saw a glimpse of someone scared. Scared of losing what he had, yes, but also scared of losing his life to rebels and uprisings, whether founded on noble ideals or on the greed of corporations. And above all, scared that he was making a mistake in his leadership. 

Stiles heard those words Derek had said like an echo in his mind. 'I'm trying.' 'I want to do the right thing.' He found he believed them. 

Before coming here, he had thought it would be so easy, that the people in charge could just make things better, give the orders that would fix the problems, but seeing the issue with the mining safety he realised that even something that seemed so basic could have hidden complexities. Derek had to think about them all, and he had to think about the danger of losing his position because when someone ruled a galactic empire, losing his position probably meant losing his life too. 

"We'll figure something out," Stiles said. That earned him a look of surprise from Derek, who probably didn't expect for Stiles to put them both on the same side with words like 'we'. He felt like they were in this together, though, trying to solve this problem. He just wasn't sure where to begin. Derek clearly believed that the sweeping changes to wages and regulations were far too big a move, but perhaps they could make smaller moves, something to at least help them take a few steps in the right direction. It wasn't the grand revolution Stiles had once dreamt of, but any progress was better than nothing. 

"When I gave you the proposal for the food credit program," he admitted, "I never expected you to go for the third option. I expected that to seem too large and out of the question, to make the middle option seem more reasonable." 

"I actually suspected as much," Derek said. Stiles shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like he was known for subtlety. 

"Maybe we could do the same here. You could mention the idea of doubling wages and enforcing shorter shifts as the extreme option and then suggest something in between doing everything and doing nothing." 

"Not a bad idea. What do you suggest for that middle option?" 

That was where Stiles was drawing a blank.


	29. Chapter 26

Derek spent several hours with Stiles, brainstorming ideas for mining reform. He brought in Lydia to get her perspective on the economics and she talked about economic incentives to offset the higher wage costs that they were talking about for the mining companies. 

"The incentives should be based on safety records," Stiles said. "That's the whole point of this reform after all. No accidents, they get the bonuses, but if they have accidents, they don't." 

Lydia countered with ideas about sliding scales and the two got into an intense discussion about bonus rates based on the size of the organisation as well as the track records of the mines in question. In the end, they came out with a model that was slightly skewed in favour of the smaller companies, since they would be the ones least able to cope with the blow to their bottom lines, but not so much as to anger the people who ran the largest mining corporations. Derek felt slightly unnecessary to most of the discussions, as the other two talked at rapid pace, but he listened carefully, trying to take in all the points and arguments in case he needed to regurgitate them afterwards. 

At the end, he had them talk him through the details slowly to make sure he got them all. They built in a little wiggle room to the proposal, with areas where he could be pushed into a compromise if necessary. Once he was sure he understood it, he went back to his office to call the meeting. 

One advantage of being the overlord was that he didn't have long to wait. Despite the variations in local time for the people involved, it was less than an hour later when he had the images of six corporate leaders and a couple of other key stakeholders projected in front of his desk. 

"Thank you for finding the time to speak with me," Derek said, even though he hadn't really given them any choice. "As you are aware, I have been running investigations into the issue of mine safety, an issue I'm sure is of enormous significance for you, not just because of the tragic loss of life that can occur, but also because of the loss of productivity in your operations whenever such an accident occurs." 

He tried to mimic how Peter would look in a conversation like this. Peter would have that smile of his, which could be so charming when he needed it to be, that made it seem like he was really on their side. Coming from him, he wasn't sure they bought it. 

"My investigators," Derek continued, trying to keep a straight face while he talked about Stiles as though he were a whole team of experts, "have found a simple cause, but one which doesn't have a simple solution. Your workers are tired from working through double and triple shifts, because they need the money those shifts provide." He tried for the I'm-on-your-side smile. "Now, obviously, I can't tell you to double your wages and hire twice as many staff so that everyone can get a good night's sleep, because the impact for your companies would be enormous." 

He tried to give the impression of someone who was sympathetic to their needs, who only wanted what was best for them. He wasn't sure which of them, if any, were convinced by his act. 

He continued talking, "But it's just as obvious, that we have to do something. I have some ideas to run past you." 

He wanted them to feel like he valued their advice, like this was something they were trying to fix together rather than something he was forcing on them. All the while, he kept thinking that Peter would do a much better job of this than he was, but he kept going, laying out the rough outline of the plan that Lydia and Stiles had devised. He talked about the proposal for inspections and mine safety ratings, which would include the factor of how much sleep workers got. He tried to make it sound like this was purely for show, to demonstrate to the public that they were doing something without actually having any real impact on the operations of the companies or their mines. Derek saw a few nods at that. 

He talked about banning triple shifts, and that got a few frowns, but again he tried to paint this as a token gesture and how this really wasn't a bad thing. Those were the shifts that caused the most accidents, so really it worked out better for everyone, and they would still be able to continue the double shift approach. Stiles hadn't been happy about that, but he'd agreed that compromise might be necessary. 

When he talked about the incentives for good safety records, he made it sound like this would all work out for the best interest of those in this meeting. He saw that some of them were back to nods again. 

When he got to the part about increasing wages, he countered by talking about reducing the overtime bonus percentage, so that there would be less need or incentive for the workers to work double shifts. Overall, the mining companies might experience a slight hit, he admitted, but that would be balanced out by the incentives. 

He tried to make it seem like this was all smoke and mirrors to make it look like they were taking action, while shuffling the deck out of sight. Yes, this proposal would hurt the companies in terms of wages, but that was what the incentives were there for. 

When he stopped talking and opened the meeting out to comments and questions, he tried to remember how to breathe. He got push back, of course, arguments and disagreements, but they were arguing about details. They wanted the incentives to be bigger, the wage increase to be lower, the time frames to make the changes to be longer, but they weren't throwing the whole plan out the way Derek had feared they might. They seemed to all accept that something of the sort was going to happen and now they were haggling about the terms. 

The rest of the meeting was exhausting, full of back and forth, and Derek was glad they weren't physically present because if they had been, he might have been tempted to punch more than one of them. At one point, he threw out Stiles' line about how they had corporate turnovers larger than some planets, with profit margins to match, so these changes weren't going to put any of them at risk. From the expressions on some faces, that hadn't been the right thing to say, but he followed up by talking about how these changes would be across the industry, so it wasn't as though any one company was being singled out and so would lose value compared to the others. He even hinted that the ones likely to feel the most impact would be the smaller companies, so that if these business owners were clever, they might actually come out of this with some expansions and acquisitions that would more than make up for any minor losses. 

He wasn't sure that was actually true, given Lydia's model for the incentive scheme, but he tried to avoid letting them look too closely at her numbers just in case they could follow her math. 

In the end, he stood firm and they finished the meeting with agreement from all those gathered. Derek made the official announcement while they were still there. The projected images of these corporate leaders smiled behind him as he signed the proposal into being. He could have signed the proposal without their agreement, but at least this way they felt like they'd had a stake, like they'd won something. They would be looking at how to actually implement the proposal instead of instantly looking for the loopholes to get round it. 

Derek bid farewell to those he'd summoned and ended the meeting, finally standing up and stretching the aches that had built up. His stomach growled at him. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and he didn't want to think about how many hours he'd been stuck there arguing. 

He left his office, Erica falling into place beside him, and went to find food, but what he ended up finding instead was Stiles, just heading away from his own office. 

"You finished working?" Derek asked. 

"Um... yeah?" Stiles seemed nervous. Probably he was hoping that Derek wasn't going to give him more to do. 

"Come on. We're celebrating." 

"Celebrating? You got them to agree to the proposal?" 

"I think some of them were even happy about it." 

"Probably because it doesn't do half as much as it needs to," Stiles said. Derek couldn't really disagree with that, but there were limits to what he could do and he wasn't going to be made miserable when he'd just won a victory. 

"It was a compromise," he said, "but it's a start. When the universe doesn't implode over the next cycle, we can push for another step towards what we want." 

"We?" Stiles asked, and Derek realised what he'd just said, how he'd assumed Stiles would still be there helping him, researching for him, brainstorming strategies with him, a cycle from now. 

"Assuming your father's forces haven't staged a daring rescue between now and then," Derek said. He tried to keep his tone light. 

They reached the elevator and Derek activated the controls, pressing his thumb over the button so that it would read his print. Stiles was watching with intense interest, no doubt realising he was about to enter a part of the ship that was normally off-limits to him. It was hard to remember sometimes that Stiles was an enemy, at least on some level. He wasn't sure what exactly they were to each other now. 

"I said I'd stay with you as long as my dad's here," Stiles said. "Do you really think he'll still be here a cycle from now?" 

He sounded afraid, like he had been at the beginning, and Derek could see the question behind the question. Would his father still be alive a year from now? Derek wasn't sure how to answer. He knew now that Stilinski wasn't the violent terrorist he'd thought he was, but he was still a rebel, still committed to the cause of taking Derek out of power. He could hardly just release the man, and even if he did, then Stiles would have no reason to stay. But keeping him in that cell wasn't a long-term strategy either. This wasn't a prison facility and this ship wasn't equipped for holding people for months or years at a time. 

An execution was out of the question, though Derek was willing to admit to himself that he hated that idea more because it would hurt Stiles than out of concern for Stilinski. 

He was saved from having to answer by the elevator arriving. He led the way out into hallways that were carpeted now, with walls decorated with scenes of nature from across his empire. The lights were shaped like ornate flowers instead of efficient circles, and Stiles slowed his pace, looking up at them as he walked underneath. He peered at the decorations on the walls. 

"Is this painted?" he asked, reaching out towards a scene of a floral meadow. Derek slapped his hand away. 

"Yes, and it's antique. Don't touch." 

Stiles held his hands up in a surrender gesture, but continued to stare at everything they passed. Derek reached the door to his suite and opened it, but as he stepped inside, Erica asked, "Where do you want me?" 

The question confused Derek for a moment until he realised she was asking if he wanted her to stand guard inside the room or outside. It seemed mean to leave her inside, and on other occasions he might invite her inside to talk while he ate, but having her inside sent a message that he felt he needed protection around Stiles. He would make it up to her some other time. 

"Outside please," he said. 

"You got it." 

She seemed far too happy about the prospect of being left to stand in an empty corridor and Derek couldn't help but wonder if she thought there was more going on here than there was. He would correct her on that later too. 

Stiles stood awkwardly in the main room of Derek's suite, staring about him and looking like he might make a bolt for the door, his hands twitching and fidgeting at his sides. Derek pretended not to notice his unease and went over to the food dispenser. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. 

"Yeah. I guess." 

Derek pressed for two meals and carried the steaming plates over towards the dining table while Stiles gaped at them. 

"Is that actual steak?" he asked. 

Derek shrugged. "Probably not. Honestly, I can't tell the difference between the real thing and a good synth." 

He gestured to Stiles to take a seat. Stiles seemed to have forgotten his nervousness because he sat down and started eating like a starving man, like he expected the food to be snatched away from him at any moment. Derek smiled, amused by the sight of Stiles stuffing anything and everything in his mouth, barely pausing to chew. He wondered if he ought to increase the quality of Stiles' regular meals if this was the reaction a steak dinner got. Or maybe he could just share a dinner with Stiles once in a while. Things didn't always have to be about work between them, or Stiles' father. Derek knew he was starting onto dangerous territory but there was nothing wrong with an occasion meal, right?


	30. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume that jenga would be made of plastic not wood in a science fiction setting. :)

Stiles had eaten far too fast. He should have savoured the meal because he might never get food that good again, but more importantly he should have eaten slower because now he was finished while Derek's plate was still half full and he had nothing to do except play with his fork and think about what was going to happen next, about the 'celebration' that was going to happen. 

Not so long ago, he'd been terrified of this, hating the thought of being used, sure that Derek would be brutal and violent. Now, he wasn't sure about that at all. The fact that Derek was starting off with a dinner, a good dinner, as though this were an actual date was a good sign that what came next might actually be enjoyable. Stiles knew now that Derek wasn't nearly as brutal as he pretended to be, so what was to follow might actually be tender and gentle. So while Stiles' stomach was still fluttering with butterflies, it wasn't pain he was afraid of. He was afraid he might actually enjoy this. 

If Stiles admitted this was his first time, Derek would probably go slow, ease him into it. Derek wasn't some violent monster. He would probably try to make this mutually pleasurable, and Stiles couldn't deny that Derek was an attractive man. Sleeping with him was something Stiles probably would have fantasised about if it weren't for the situation, their relative positions. Somehow, even though he ought to be happy about the prospect of enjoying this, he couldn't help feeling like it was an act of betrayal, like he was turning his back on his dad and his principles if he actually liked sleeping with Derek. Enjoying being with Derek felt somehow worse than working with him, because now he couldn't justify it with the excuse of trying to help other people. 

So he fidgeted, and tried not to think about where this was going. Stiles picked up the knife he'd been using to cut his steak, balancing it on its tip and spinning it. 

"Careful," Derek said, as the knife clattered to the table's surface. For a moment, Stiles thought Derek was worried that the table might get damaged, but then he realised that concern on his face was for Stiles. Stiles, who was playing around with a sharp knife and might cut himself. 

It was really surprising that Derek had trusted him with a knife like this, especially since he'd dismissed Erica to wait outside. Back on Afgurn, the security trio had taken the shard of plastic from him as though it were a danger, and now he had a steak knife. Stiles might not be any good at physical combat, but could probably throw it at Derek and do a lot of damage, maybe even kill him before Erica could get in here and stop him. Of course, he wouldn't do that, not just because he wasn't sure he was capable of killing someone but also because that would basically guarantee he and his dad got tortured to death, but still it was strange that he even had the opportunity. It was probably also a good sign that Derek didn't intend for this celebration to be horrible for him. 

Stiles put the knife down and looked across the table at Derek, who was cutting his steak into delicate pieces and chewing them carefully. Stiles wondered if royalty training included how to eat politely. Or maybe he was savouring the build up to the celebration as well as the food. In the awkwardness of watching Derek eat, Stiles did what he always did in the face of uncomfortable silence: he started talking. 

"You called this a celebration," Stiles said. "You got the mining corporations to agree to the policies, but the policies are frigging weak. The big companies will still be making a fortune while not paying workers any more than the bare minimum, and people will still be working long shifts and being at risk of exhaustion-based accidents. It's not so much a win as taking one step along a race track while the finishing line is so far away you can't make it out." 

"This is how it goes," Derek answered. "Every meeting, every negotiation, every policy, it's a baby step towards where you want to go." 

"But everything still sucks. Having it suck a tiny bit less isn't like fixing the problem." 

Derek didn't answer right away. He took another mouthful of food and Stiles thought he was probably doing so as a way to buy time to think of what to say next. 

"Did you ever play that game when you were a kid that had a tower of plastic blocks and you had to build the tower taller by taking the blocks out of the bottom?" 

"I thought I was the master of random changes in topic," Stiles said. 

Derek rolled his eyes. "I have a point." 

"Yes, I played that game." 

"Right now, the situation is one of those towers from near the end of the game, when it's almost more gaps than blocks. The slightest nudge, the slightest shift in circumstances, and the whole thing will come crashing down. What you're suggesting is that I yank out half the blocks and try and find something better to replace them with, but that will throw everything into chaos. Government, the military, the economy." Derek waved a hand, summing up the entire existence in one gesture. 

"Isn't it important to try though?" Stiles said. 

"Only if it's going to actually help, not just mess everything up for everyone. Let's say, hypothetically, I made huge sweeping changes to miner wages, safety requirements, all of it. Half the smaller mining companies would be forced to shut down or sell out to the big companies, so the industry would get even more dominated by a few big players. They'd put their prices up, which would be mean the same sort of thing happening in manufacturing, shipping, construction. The companies in those industries would need to cut corners to stay in business, so they'd probably start working their staff ridiculous hours and the next thing you know, we've got an epidemic of accidents in those industries." 

"So you step in and help with those industries," Stiles said. They'd had this discussion about the mining safety issue and Stiles knew that Derek had a point, but he still felt that there had to be something more to do, something more that Derek could do to help. He had so much power in theory but he seemed nervous about implementing it in practice. 

"Or we don't try to do everything all at once. We nudge the situation in the right direction, we try to win people over, convince them that it's in their best interest to make an incremental change and then once they've adjusted to the new normal, we push for the next change." 

"You're still saying 'we'," Stiles said. There was something amusing about that, about Derek acting like the two of them were somehow a unit. 

"I meant myself and my administration," Derek said, but Stiles didn't quite believe him. Derek was talking like they were in this together, trying to save the galaxy, and Stiles found he quite liked the idea. Maybe while Derek was pushing for incremental changes, Stiles could push for bigger increments. 

"You're not going to change anything in a big way," Stiles said, "while you're still sucking up to the sort of people who exploit their workers and don't care if they get hurt." 

"They're the ones with the money and the power," Derek said. "I may theoretically be in charge of the empire, but there's big difference between theory and reality. I need those people on my side, or at least to think that they're better off with me in charge than someone else. Peter always said that there were only two ways to keep control - fear and force - and fear that they'll be worse off if someone else takes over is as important as fear of retribution if they move against me." 

"I think you should stop paying attention to the things your uncle said." 

"He knew what he was doing," Derek said. "You think he was a tyrant and I know that he did some things that were... well... wrong, but he knew what he was doing." 

The implication behind those words was that Derek didn't. 

"Fine. So he was good at being an evil dictator. Still doesn't mean he's someone you want to emulate. You can be better than him." 

"Or I can watch the entire empire crumble because I can't keep all the different factions together. I've got to be seen to be helpful to all the people like Harris. I had an excuse with Harris. He lied to me, insulted my intelligence, tried to trick me into doing something damaging to my budget as well as to the people, which meant I could treat him as an enemy and let everyone else think that it was the lying that was the problem. As it is, I've got a lot of people feeling nervous because I turned around and gave the money to the people on the food credit program. If I'd kept the money for myself, that would at least be behaviour they understand, but someone in government taking money from a CEO and distributing it to the poor makes all the other CEOs worried. If I try the same thing again, if I push for equality, if I force all those people to give their money to the little guy, then I will find myself with a lot of powerful people very angry with me and looking around to see if there's someone else who could be in charge would would care more about their bottom lines than, well, the entire rest of the population." 

"You've got to be seen to be in favour of all the greedy assholes," Stiles said. It wasn't so much a question as a statement of his new understanding. He'd never thought about leadership from this perspective, but it was clear that this was something Derek spent a good deal of time thinking about, or at the very least a lot of time since the Harris incident. Stiles wondered if Derek had expected this reaction when he'd agreed to Stiles' terms on the punishment. 

"If I don't," Derek said, "they'll find some way to replace me with someone who genuinely is." 

Stiles considered this. "It's a shame you can't have a secret, good deed fairy going around helping people." 

Derek fixed him with a disbelieving stare. "A good deed fairy?" 

"Someone who, I don't know, goes around giving money to set up free hospitals, while you're busy reassuring all the CEOs of medical firms that of course you're looking out for their profits." 

Derek gave a little smile. "It's a nice idea." 

He obviously thought Stiles was joking. 

"I mean it," Stiles said. "Not the fairy part, but you could have someone working as your agent in secret, channeling funds and resources into public good projects without ever saying that it's you behind it." 

Derek's smile turned to a frown, but one which suggested he was thinking it over. 

"It would take some doing," he said. "I can't just create money out of thin air." 

"Why not? It's just numbers in a computer somewhere." 

"Ask Lydia for a lesson on hyperinflation sometime. But I could shuffle some of the money around. There are pots allocated to military spending and research projects which are frequently classified, so some of that money could be reallocated. But it would take a lot of organisation, and I wouldn't be able to officially monitor or review any spending. It would be very easy for whoever was in that role to steal some of the money for themselves." 

"So you pick someone trustworthy," Stiles said. "Someone who cares more about the greater good than their own situation." 

"Finding someone that trustworthy is not going to simple. Not everyone's like..." Derek trailed off. He stared into the distance, obviously seeing something that Stiles didn't. "Oh." 

"Oh?" Stiles asked. 

Derek shook his head. "I just thought of something. It doesn't matter. It probably wouldn't work." 

He set down his cutlery and that was when Stiles noticed that Derek had finished eating while they'd been talking. Stiles swallowed nervously, thinking about what this meant, about what was to come next. He'd almost forgotten in the intensity of their discussion that he was here because Derek wanted to 'celebrate'. But Derek just gave another little smile and said, "Have you got room for dessert?" 

"Dessert?" 

Dessert wasn't an option in the canteen, at least not on the ration level Stiles was usually entitled to, so he wasn't going to turn down the offer now, not when Derek went to the food dispenser and created two dishes of something colourful and creamy, with chunks of real fruit mixed in and a sweetness Stiles hadn't experienced in so long he'd forgotten. He let out a moan as the first spoonful slid across his tongue, the flavours dancing in his mouth. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the dessert slip down his throat. 

He noticed Derek staring at him when he opened his eyes again. He must have looked really odd. 

"Sorry," he said. "It's good." 

"So I gathered." Derek seemed amused by Stiles' reaction to the dessert. He ate his own with considerably more restraint. The dessert was gone ridiculously quickly, and then Stiles was back to wondering about what would happen next. Far too soon, Derek was standing up and carrying their dishes back to the return slot in the food dispenser. 

"Well," Derek said, "I suppose I should have Erica see you back to your room." 

The statement was said with such utter casualness, but it caught Stiles off guard. 

"We're not..." He trailed off. 

"Not what?" Derek looked genuinely confused, like he couldn't imagine what it was Stiles was expecting, forcing Stiles to reconsider his assumptions. After all, Derek had never said that they were going to have sex. He'd said 'celebration', which Stiles had taken to be a euphemism but it was entirely possible that Derek had only ever intended it to mean a nice meal eaten with company. Clearly he hadn't wanted to have sex with Stiles after all. 

"Nothing," Stiles said. "Never mind." 

Derek walked him to the door, opening it for him. Erica stood to attention outside. 

"See he gets back OK," Derek said. 

"Of course," Erica answered, and then Stiles was standing in the hallway with her, the door closing behind him. She continued, "I should call one of the others. I'm not supposed to leave Derek unguarded." She pulled a comms unit from her pocket, calling for Boyd or Isaac to come play escort. Isaac answered that he would be right there, but they still had a few minutes standing outside Derek's door. 

"That was quicker than I expected," she said. 

"How long was I in there?" Stiles asked. 

"That wasn't what I meant. I meant that I'm surprised Derek invited you back to his room so soon. He was ranting the other day about how you can't freely consent to anything while he holds your dad prisoner, so anything he tried would be basically rape. I figured it would take him at least a cycle to even get as far as admitting he likes you." 

She said that with a light, smiling tone, but there was nothing about it that suggested she was joking. Stiles felt his dinner doing somersaults in his gut. She'd assumed this was about sex too. If she was right, this changed everything. Derek not starting anything sexual wasn't about him having no interest in Stiles, but about him having respect for his choices, for his consent. 

"We just had dinner," Stiles said. "Nothing else happened." 

Erica looked nervous. "Oh! Then forget I said anything." 

But Stiles couldn't forget. Because she'd said that Derek liked him. Had this been a date? Stiles had barely come to terms with the idea of the overlord of the galaxy not being a monster. He wasn't sure he was ready to come to terms with the idea of the overlord of the galaxy being interested in dating him.


	31. Chapter 28

"Stiles had a very interesting idea yesterday," Derek said, taking his seat across the cell barriers from Stilinski. 

"Stiles gets lots of interesting ideas," Stilinski said, his tone implying this was somehow a bad thing. 

"We were talking about how I have to give a certain impression to allies and people of influence that I'm working in their best interests, so that they'll continue to support me in turn. Unfortunately, those people frequently don't have the best interests of the general populace in mind, which makes it difficult to do things which would change your mind about me being a tyrant." 

"I'm sure being the most powerful person in the galaxy is very difficult," Stilinski said in a deadpan tone that did nothing to conceal the sarcasm behind those words. 

"Stiles suggested having someone who could work on my behalf, acting in the best interests of the people, without letting anyone know that they're acting on my behalf." 

Stilinski just looked confused. He didn't say anything, so Derek thought of how to continue, casting his mind back to the discussion of the night before and the example they'd used. 

"Let's say I manage to reallocate a million credits from various programs, hiding it in the budget disguised as a lot of smaller payments, or as funds for convert military research. I funnel that money, in secret, into an account controlled by someone else. That someone else can start investing in clinics and free medication for impoverished people. If asked where they got their money, it came from anonymous donations. No one would know the money came from me." 

Stilinski looked at him like he was an idiot. "It would be a lot more efficient to just put government funding into free health programs." 

"But then I would get push back from pharmaceutical companies, health insurers, private hospital owners. This way, those people wouldn't know that I was deliberately undermining them." 

The idea had seemed like it made so much sense when he and Stiles had been discussing it. Now, Derek had his doubts again, because Stilinski was looking at him like the plan was lunacy. 

"You'd be taking a huge risk," Stilinski said. "By denying any connection to the money, you'd lose any say over how it got spent." 

"I know. That would be the challenge. I would have to find someone who could be trusted not to steal or misuse the money, someone honourable, someone who cares about the well being of those least fortunate in the empire." 

"Good luck finding someone like that." 

"I think I already have." 

Stilinski stared at him. Derek stared back. The meaning of Derek's words hung in the air between them, the offer. 

"You're out of your mind," Stilinski said. 

"You could have control of a large quantity of money with discretion over how to spend it." 

"You'd never do that. This is some test, because you wouldn't give money to a rebel. I'm too likely to spend it on equipping forces to fight you." 

But Derek didn't think that was the case, and not just because of Stiles. He'd believed awful things of Stilinski before he'd met the man, before he'd got to know the man Stiles had become thanks to his teachings. Now he thought he knew the man a bit better. 

"Why did you become a rebel?" Derek asked. 

Stilinski looked at him like the question was a trap, but after a minute he answered it. "Because I was conscripted into the military to serve in your forces and I was given orders to frighten innocent civilians in the name of order. Because that same military threatened to hurt my wife and child if I didn't follow those orders. Because, while I was away, my wife got sick and my son nearly starved. Because when Claudia couldn't afford medication to keep her mind from disintegrating, the CEO of the company that made those meds made enough money to build a yacht out of diamond. Because I wasn't allowed to be there when my wife died. Because they told me that serving your family should matter more to me than keeping mine alive. Because when I returned home, I was told I ought to leave my son behind again, because of emergency orders your uncle had issued over a bombing that had happened systems away from my wife was being buried." 

"I'm sorry," Derek said, "about your wife." 

"Not sorry enough to do anything about the people who made money while they let her die." 

"My point is that you became a rebel because you want to fight. You became a rebel because you wanted to make the galaxy a better place. This is a way to do that, without the fighting." 

"Is this how you plan on getting rid of the rebels? You give us some tiny portion of your wealth so we can play at doing good while you keep running your corrupt system?" 

It was clear that nothing Derek said was going to make Stilinski trust him. This had been a foolish idea. He'd thought Stilinski was the perfect candidate for this idea because he was honourable, because he clearly cared more about his fight for justice than he did about his own life, and because he had to be a good man to have raised Stiles to be as he was. But clearly the plan wouldn't work, because it relied on them trusting each other. Derek would have to trust Stilinski that he wouldn't use the money to fund more fighters for the rebels, and Stilinski would have to trust Derek that he was making the offer sincerely. 

"There are a lot of people heavily invested in the corruption," Derek said. "Changing the way things have been for years isn't going to be easy. What I'm suggesting is a way to help people in the meantime." 

"And what would happen to Stiles in this scenario?" Stilinski asked. "Would he stay your hostage?" 

It was such an obvious question and one Derek should have thought to expect. He should have known that this was exactly what Stilinski would ask, but he didn't have an answer prepared. The truth was, he couldn't expect Stiles to stay here, a prisoner on the ship, not if he was going to put trust in his father. He didn't want Stiles to be a prisoner, he wanted him to help out of choice. Besides, he'd already made the promise to let Stiles go. If Stiles decided to leave, Derek ought to be bound by that previous promise. If he wanted Stilinski to work with him, he couldn't use Stiles as a playing piece in some game between them. If he tried to manipulate Stilinski through holding Stiles hostage, then Stilinski would use anything Derek gave him to try and undermine him, to try and free Stiles. And, if nothing else, Stiles deserved better than being used that way. 

"That's up to him," Derek said. "I want him to stay here, to work with me as a researcher and offer me his perspectives, but it would be his choice. If he wanted to go with you, I'd let him. If he wanted to go to university or some other educational establishment, I'd see to that too." 

Stilinski scoffed. "We wouldn't have the money for him to go to the sort of university he'd deserve. Not without stealing from your funds anyway." 

"That wouldn't be an issue," Derek said. "I already wrote out the order when you turned yourself in and I thought Stiles would be leaving." 

"What order?" Stilinski sounded nervous. 

"A full scholarship to any educational institution of his choice, paid for from my personal funds." 

Stilinski just stared at him. 

"Are you joking?" he asked, after a full minute of staring. 

"I'm completely serious. Stiles can get an education anywhere in my empire, at my expense." 

Stilinski stared some more. 

"This isn't some condition for my cooperation? This isn't some bribe to try and make me work for you?" 

"No. I had this arranged weeks ago, as soon as you surrendered. I didn't get around to telling Stiles because he wouldn't even listen to me on the subject of leaving." 

"Why?" 

It was clear he wasn't asking why Derek hadn't managed to talk to Stiles. The one word summed up all of Stilinski's confusion and doubt. It was probably the most important question Stilinski had asked him and Derek's answer would be just as important in swaying this man to his side.

"I like Stiles," Derek said. "I think he is brilliantly intelligent. He's stubborn and self-righteous, but that means he speaks up on issues he cares about. He is hopelessly naive about economics and politics, but with the right training he could do extraordinary things. I want to give him the chance to do those things." 

"Even if he uses that training to work against you?" 

"He could do a lot more good working with me. I'm not my uncle, or my mother, or anyone else who's leadership you might have been thinking about when you signed up with the rebels. I want to do right by my people, but in a way that doesn't throw the galaxy into chaos by destroying the structures that are in place. Stiles and I have been talking about this, and I want him to help me make this empire a better place." 

Stilinski was back to staring, and Derek wasn't sure if he believed a word of what Derek had just said. 

***

Stiles wasn't sure what he was meant to be researching. Derek hadn't given him a new assignment and the mining stuff was dealt with, at least for the time being. He could have gone back to trying to solve the problem of corruption in the military, but that felt like banging his head against a brick wall. He ended up heading back for the library and digging through records of the bombing of the Bessum palace and the trial of the Argents afterwards. Much of the material about how the Argents had been identified and captured was locked away behind passwords and warnings in red letters about the files being classified, but Stiles found he had access to the court transcripts and copies of the evidence logs. 

Kate and Victoria Argent, along with young Allison, had been captured on a small shuttle which, according to the evidence logs, contained explosive traces that matched the chemical signature of the Bessum palace bombs, as well as equipment to make those explosives. They had attempted to wipe the shuttle's computers, but the court's technical staff had managed to retrieve partial files, including terrain maps and floor plans for the palace and what appeared to be a list of the staff. 

There were transcripts of the question of the two Argent adults. Stiles was glad those didn't come with the audio files themselves, because he guessed that a lot of pain had been used to elicit the answers. In between the more coherent questioning, there were records of the two prisoners saying 'stop' and 'no' and 'please' a hell of a lot. In the questioning, the two initially denied their involvement in the bombing but then confessed, but they refused to admit that anyone else had worked with them or that they had any supporters. They wouldn't name who supplied the explosives for a considerable amount of time, but eventually both broke and gave a name, describing a trade on an asteroid. The evidence notes mentioned that no trace of the man had ever been found, and it was equally plausible that the Argents had made up the whole story or that he was just really good at covering his tracks. The fact the stories had matched didn't mean much, because the two women could have planned cover stories ahead of time in case of capture. 

There was a transcript of Allison's questioning as well. Stiles was hesitant to open it, but eventually he decided that it was better to see than be left wondering. It didn't look like Allison was tortured. She spent a lot of time asking for her mom, but there was no other pleading, nothing to hint that she was in pain. The interrogator asked her about her family, about the bombing, about her feelings on the government. Allison's testimony was childlike in answers: her mom and aunt were her only family, her mom said that she did grown up work and Allison was too young to get involved, her mom said that the overlord was a very bad woman and needed to be stopped. There were no details and, reading the transcript, Stiles felt like he was reading a conversation with a five year old rather than a ten year old. Allison gave the impression of a dim, unobservant child, and Stiles couldn't help wondering if this had been practiced too. It was entirely possible that Allison had known a lot more than she'd let on, but she'd been groomed to present an air of innocence if captured as a way of keeping her safe. If that was the case, it had sort of worked: Allison hadn't been tortured at her interrogation and she'd been sent to the military base on Afgurn instead of the prison camps. 

Stiles wondered how deeply she'd been involved in her parents' plots. There was no point in really asking her since it was unlikely that she would confess now after having put on such a good show for the trial. 

Stiles went back into the evidence files, looking at what else they contained. There were records from the trial itself, with testimonies given by those who had been injured in the bombing, or who had lost friends and family. A lot of those were recorded. Stiles tried to remember back to the time after the bombing and he recalled a hell of a lot of broadcasts about the trial, stirring up sympathy and anger in equal measure. He suspected now that it had all been a propaganda show by Peter to make people more willing to accept the loss of freedoms, the invasions of privacy, and all the new laws he passed in the name of security. People would watch the tearful stories about all this suffering and they would agree that of course people like the Argents needed to be stopped. Of course the military should be allowed to hunt for them and question suspects. 

Stiles spent most of the day going through files and he found he was starting to be swayed by the narrative Peter had orchestrated. The Argent women were painted as cruel monsters who slaughtered innocent people. The only counterpoint was when Victoria Argent was put on the stand, her hands shaking as she stood there but any injuries hidden beneath the prison jumpsuit she wore. She didn't bother denying her crimes, but ranted about how cruel and vicious Talia Hale was, how cruel all the Hales were, how this reign of terror needed to be brought to an end by any means necessary. She started into a speech, calling out to those watching to stand up and fight against these monsters, but that was when she was cut off and hauled from the stand. The lawyers made it out that she was unstable and violent, and no one even hinted at the possibility that she might have had a point about the Hale's cruelty. 

Stiles stared at the list of evidence files, wondering what he was supposed to do with them. They hadn't really taught him anything he didn't already know and he didn't have any project to apply this information to. Except maybe Allison. 

Showing her the files might be dangerous. He might further cement her feelings about Derek being worth stabbing on sight, but he could use them to start a dialogue with her. At least this way it would look like he was being open with her, if he showed her the good and the bad. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to achieve, but he didn't want to just ignore the girl, and she was probably getting very bored alone in her room. He copied the files over to his computer and then wondered how to go about the next part of this self-appointed project. 

Stiles looked across at where Lydia was busy doing something that involved plotting lines across star maps with probability statistics highlighted in different colours. He wasn't sure what that was except complicated. 

"Hey, Lydia," he called. 

"What?" She didn't looked away from her numbers. 

"How would I look up what room someone is allocated on this ship?" 

"There's a search on the staff database that should let you check that information." 

"There are two problems with that," Stiles said. She finally turned to look at him. "One, I'm not sure I have access to the staff database. And, two, I'm not looking up a member of staff. I want to know which room is Allison's." 

She stared at him. "Why?" 

"So I can go talk to her." 

"Why?" 

"To try having a conversation without anyone getting stabbed." 

Lydia continued giving him a sceptical look. "Does Derek approve?" 

Stiles briefly considered lying, but that was bound to come back and bite him in the ass. "I haven't actually asked him." 

She stared some more, before finally shrugging and going, "You'd be better off asking the security team. They'll know where her room is and what rules Derek has set around access." 

"Great," Stiles said. Then, because he was still trapped by the security cuff on his wrist and couldn't just wander away from the library at will. "Could you call one of them?"


	32. Chapter 29

"Why do you want to talk to Allison?" Isaac asked, walking Stiles away from the library. Stiles held his computer in one hand, its cargo of trial logs safely on its storage. 

"I just want to talk to her," Stiles said. "Listen to her perspective. She might be more willing to talk to me than to Derek." 

He might have more luck persuading other people to let him do this if he could point to any reason more compelling than his curiosity. Unfortunately, curiosity was his major driver here. He wanted to talk to Allison because he wanted to know more about her, about what she thought and how she felt about the empire. He wanted to know if she could be reasonable, if maybe her family had some good points that were worth Derek listening to, or if she could be another voice giving Derek alternative perspectives. Or if she was just going to stab everyone. 

"Does Derek approve?" Isaac asked. 

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" 

"Because you want to be in the same room as someone who attempted murder a couple of days ago and you can't even throw a punch without hurting yourself." 

Stiles was a little surprised by that answer. He'd expected Derek's people to be concerned about Stiles spending time with Allison because they were both children of rebels. He'd expected them to worry about the two of them plotting Derek's downfall together, but it sounded like Isaac was worried that Allison might hurt Stiles. 

"She won't be armed," Stiles said. Isaac reached for his comm unit. "Do you really want to be bothering Derek with something like this?" 

"If there's a chance you're going to end up stabbed, yes." Isaac placed the call, informing Derek that Stiles wanted to talk to Allison. 

Stiles expected Derek to ask why as well, or to just refuse outright. Instead, there was a moment of hesitation before Derek agreed, adding, "But stay with him and get him out of there at the first sign of trouble." 

There was worry in his tone, and Stiles felt a soft flutter of joy inside that Derek cared about him getting hurt. Derek hadn't even questioned the action. Did that mean he trusted Stiles in the presence of someone who'd attempted to kill him? Or did he just believe Stiles wouldn't do anything while Isaac was there? 

Isaac showed him to the room in question, which was only a few doors down from Stiles' room. Isaac needed to jab his thumb on the scanner to open the door, and he made a point of walking in first, blocking Allison from getting to Stiles. Allison had been mid push-up when they entered, but she jumped to her feet with such impressive athleticism that Stiles might have been tempted to give her a round of applause if he hadn't been carrying his computer. She glared at the two of them. 

"What do you want?" she asked. 

"I thought you might be bored, so I brought you some reading material." He transferred the files over to the room's computer. Allison eyed the computer sceptically. 

"What is it?" she asked. "Something to attempt to brainwash me?" 

"Not exactly. It's the collection of court records from your mom and aunt's trial. There's even the transcript of your interrogation in there." 

Isaac took his eyes off Allison long enough to shoot Stiles a glare. "You didn't say you'd be giving her that." 

"Because people might have said no," Stiles said, as though this reasoning were obvious. "Besides, she deserves to see them and it's not like there's anything in there that her mom and aunt won't have told her already." 

"So why bother giving it to me?" Allison asked. 

"I don't know. I figured you might find it interesting. Plus, I know how boring being confined in one of these little rooms can get. Consider it an anti-boredom gift." 

"Like I would want a gift from one of Hale's lackeys." 

"I'm not a lackey. He's the lackey." Stiles jabbed a finger towards Isaac. 

"Hey!" Isaac complained. 

"I'm Hale's prisoner. Technically." Stiles raised his wrist with the security cuff on it. That made Allison pause and curiosity showed through the anger on her face, just a little. 

"You're his prisoner? What for?" 

"My dad's a commander in the rebels, so Derek kidnapped me to manipulate my dad into not attacking anyone by threatening me, but then my dad surrendered in exchange for my freedom but I refused to leave because I wasn't sure what Derek would do to my dad, so it all got really complicated. Now my dad's in the cells - which are a lot more unpleasant than this room, by the way - and I do bits and pieces of research for Derek in exchange for being allowed to stay and see my dad." 

"Hale is an evil monster, kidnapping and manipulating people." 

"He's not so bad. Let me tell you about the food credit program." 

***

Stiles visited Allison for about half an hour a day. Derek didn't seem to mind it, nor did he mind that Stiles gave her files from the library and archives. He showed her some of the proposals Derek was working on, but she got bored before he could finish explaining things like the mining safety reform. Mostly they talked about how maybe she shouldn't use people who blew up babies as a basis for her moral code, until she looked like she might hit him and then he made a quick exit. 

Stiles also hung out with Scott and Kira, who were still travelling on the ship as they made their way back to the galactic core. Kira spent time in the library with Stiles, letting him help her research educational options so she could figure out what she wanted to do with her future. Kira also insisted on practicing combat in the gym, and even got Scott to join in now that he'd begun his course of lung treatments and didn't collapse into a wheezing mess five minutes in. They tried to bully Stiles into joining them, but Stiles already knew that combat wasn't going to be his thing. 

Besides, he still had to spend most of his time doing research for Derek. Apparently they would be meeting with some important general soon and Derek wanted lots of material prepared. So Stiles was trying to find statistics on the rates of violence against civilians by military forces, which was incredibly difficult since any civilian that got killed tended to get classed as an rebel soldier as soon as they stopped breathing. He was also trying to identify cases like Melissa McCall's, so that Derek would be able to show that hers wasn't an isolated incident. That was difficult too, since II cases didn't come with nice labels saying that they were corrupt and on the surface even her case had seemed reasonable or it wouldn't have been successful. 

Stiles roped Danny into helping with search algorithms, hunting through the case records for incidents where the accused had shown no sign of criminal activity before, or where the time taken for the case was short by a statistically significant margin, or where the accused had previously raised a complaint about a superior. That narrowed down the pile considerably, but Stiles still had to go through hundreds of case files carefully, trying to figure out if they were legitimate or not, trying to spot connections that might point to abuse of power. It was hard to know on any given case whether the charges were legitimate or if the people doing the dodgy dealings were just better at hiding it than McCall had been. 

It was helped by the fact that Derek had apparently increased his security clearance, because he now didn't need to ask Lydia to retrieve files for him. Stiles did a bit of poking around in systems that he could plausibly claim had something to do with the cases he was looking at, just to see what he could get away with. The systems let him in and no one came to question him about why he didn't to see the financial reports for that company, or the school records for that former soldier. Stiles was starting to suspect that Derek had given him unlimited access to all the data he might ever want to access. 

Which was an incredibly dangerous thing for him to have done. Stiles was glad that the obstacles to his work had been removed, but it was ludicrous for him to be given this level of access to information, especially since he was officially a prisoner and affiliated with a group who wanted Derek out of power. Stiles found he was still locked out of any information about troop deployments or military research, but he could still infer a hell of a lot from the data he had been given access to. He was tempted to give Derek a lecture on the importance of data security but that might make Derek lock things down again, which would frustrate Stiles no end, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. 

***

Derek spent the journey back to the core preparing for the meeting with General Deucalion and the other military commanders. He wanted to go in there with a clear plan, or at least a set of goals and requirements that he could present to them so that they could come up with a plan. 

There were quite a lot of things on his agenda. He considered sending these to Deucalion ahead of time, but decided he would rather have this meeting face-to-face and present the information there, so that Deucalion would have less time to think of excuses and loopholes. Derek intended for Deucalion to agree to all the changes he had in mind, even if he was willing to be negotiated down a little on some point. 

He had a revised budget, which would shift money from research into maintenance for the more remote bases. He looked at the maintenance budget itself, which concentrated spending on those bases and ships which were around the core, or inhabited by senior officials. Derek proposed a slightly more even distribution, though he would still let his flagships have more than their fair share so that the generals would stay happy. 

The problems of corruption and violence against the innocent would be harder to fix. He proposed independent reviews of military action reports where civilians were killed, to ensure that those killed were really rebels and not just labelled such for the sake of convenience. There would be harsher penalties for anyone found guilty of killing innocent civilians, or for senior officers who let such actions go unreported. The independent reviewers would be a civilian organisation, outside of the military hierarchy, and they would also have authority to review II cases, to try to identify corruption in II. To avoid creating a group which itself risked serious corruption, II would be able to review this group in return, to try and ensure that both groups would remain honest in their dealings. Another shift in budget would allow II to bring in more staff to complete more investiations, which would hopefully stop cases slipping through the cracks quite so often. 

Derek would present those as decisions made, things which were definitely going to happen, but he would present Deucalion with examples like those he'd found on Afgurn, where people were pushed into bad postings as revenge by corrupt officers, and he would give Deucalion the task of trying to present similar cases in future. He had a list of ideas, based on Stiles' research, for things that would help, like allowing soldiers to anonymously report corrupt actions, a few harsh punishments to set an example, more frequent reviews, but he would leave it to Deucalion to come up with a viable plan. He tried to think of Peter's chess lesson. He couldn't focus on every detail within the military, but have to trust to these different organisations to follow where he led. 

He didn't expect Deucalion to solve the problem of military corruption overnight, but he thought that Deucalion, as someone closer to the problem and with more experience of the forces themselves, would be better able to come up with a clear plan for reducing the problem, at least somewhat. 

The information Stiles provided helped him put his notes together, and Derek felt better prepared than he usually did for meetings with Deucalion. When he'd first taken power after his uncle's death, Derek had struggled to keep on top of everything that needed to be done on the civilian side of government, so he had more or less left the military alone, trusting the big decisions to the man his uncle had trusted to lead their forces. He was starting to regret that decision now, seeing the problems that had built up under Deucalion's watch. It was time for him to push back, to show his control, to make it clear that this hands-off approach wasn't going to continue. Deucalion would still be the military commander, but Derek would be keeping an eye on the situation and ensuring that Deucalion's leadership would be the sort he approved of. 

He suspected Deucalion wasn't going to like having Derek exert his authority, so he wanted to be as prepared as possible for any arguments.


	33. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only finished this chapter today, so there might be more typos than usual. I have now officially caught up with myself. I usually have a few chapters written when I start posting a story and then try to keep writing new chapters before I run out of finished ones. As of right now, there are only 352 words of this fic that are written but not posted, so don't be surprised if my posting rate slows down a little bit. And if more typos sneak in. 
> 
> We didn't quite get to Deucalion, but I figured you might appreciate Stiles and Derek fisting (sort of). ;)

Derek went to the gym to try and burn off some of the frustration and anxiety that had been building in the light of the upcoming meeting with Deucalion. He was surprised to see Stiles there, especially over near the sparring area. Stiles wasn't actually working out, but sitting on the mats, talking to Kira and Scott who were practicing together. Theoretically practicing. Derek watched them for about a minutes and suspected that Scott was more interested in getting Kira's hands on him to correct his stance than on the stance itself. 

Kira seemed pretty good though. She was offering advice to Scott in a calm and competent manner, and Derek suspected that she'd spent her time on Afgurn training with the military staff there. Perhaps she'd hoped that would help her application to the military academy, or perhaps she just liked it. Derek thought about Erica's insistence that he would need to hire another member of his security team and he wondered about offering her the job. 

The sparring pair stopped to grab some water and Kira asked Stiles if he wanted a turn. 

"No, no, no no," Stiles said, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture, as though this was a terrible threat. "Combat and me do not mix." 

"You should learn," Derek said, coming up behind him. Stiles gave a yelp of surprise and somehow managed to nearly fall over despite the fact he was sitting down. He twisted round to look at Derek. 

"Did you just materialise out of thin air or something?" he asked. 

"Lesson number one, be aware of your surroundings." Derek tried not to show his amusement at Stiles' extreme reaction. 

"How about you take a lesson in not giving people heart attacks?" 

Derek ignored that comment and pressed his point. "You should learn some basics, especially since you hurt yourself more than me when you punched me. Get up." 

Stiles made an "ugh" noise and climbed up from the mats. Derek put a hand on his shoulder and guided him further into the matted area, not that he expected Stiles to be knocked down, but it was entirely possible that he would trip over his own feet. 

"Make a fist," Derek said. When Stiles' response was to roll his eyes and sulk like a toddler, Derek gestured for him to show a fist. "Come on. Show me a fist." 

"I'm so trying not to make an innuendo about fisting right now," Stiles said, which made Kira giggle and Scott look confused. Derek did his best to ignore the suggestive nature of the remark. Stiles balled his right hand into a fist and held it in front of him. 

"That," Derek said, "is impressively bad." 

"It's a fist," Stiles said. "How can making a fist be wrong?" 

Derek glanced at Kira, curious to see how much she knew. "Do you want to tell him?" 

"First off, you're going to damage your thumb with it tucked inside like that," she said. 

Stiles brought his thumb out from inside his fist and tried again. 

"That's just as bad," Derek said. He took hold of Stiles' wrist with one hand and with the other pressed his palm against Stiles' thumb, even a gentle motion pushing it backwards. He didn't push far enough to hurt, but enough that Stiles got the point that it could hurt if he hit something with his thumb sticking out like that. 

"So what am I supposed to do?" Stiles asked. "Cut my thumb off?" 

Derek showed him a fist, his thumb tucked out of the way underneath, and he made Stiles copy. 

"Now let's talk about the angle of your wrist," Derek said. While they got on with this, Kira and Scott moved over to another area and got back to their own practice, leaving Stiles and Derek to it. 

It took him some minutes and a number of corrections before he was happy that Stiles wasn't going to injure himself, then he had Stiles practice making a fist and shaking his hands out over and over so that he went back into the right position by habit. He considered talking about stance, but he suspected that Stiles was getting bored and frustrated already, so he decided they could tackle that another time. 

"Where are you going to hit me?" Derek asked. 

"Nowhere, because you're the overlord of the empire and my dad's your prisoner and you could probably order my execution without anyone so much as blinking," Stiles said. He hurried on, clearly worried he'd caused offence. "Not that I think you would kill me, but, well, you know." 

"That didn't stop you hitting me before. Where did you hit me?" 

"Around here somewhere," Stiles reached out and touched the side of Derek's jaw. His fingers were warm and Derek was distracted for a moment by the way they brushed against his skin, but then Stiles snatched his hand back as though the touch burned him. 

"The face is an interesting target," Derek said. "The nose and lips can bleed easily, which can make your enemy pause, and going for the eyes will always get a reaction, but there's a lot of bone, especially around the jaw. You risk hurting yourself." 

"Yeah, I noticed that." 

"If you've not got hand protection, you're better off aiming somewhere soft. That way, your enemy feels the impact but you're less likely to damage your knuckles." Derek gestured at his stomach and solar plexus. 

"I don't think your chest counts as soft," Stiles said. 

"Aim for my stomach." 

Stiles hesitated. He had his hand in a fist again and drew his arm back, but he stopped before even attempting to bring it forward in a strike. Stiles shot a nervous glance over to where Boyd was standing by the edge of the room, watching over Derek as bodyguard. 

"Boyd is not going to hurt you for punching me," Derek said. "Not while I'm standing on the sparring mats and telling you to. Punch me." 

Stiles swung his fist. Derek just stood there. He raised an eyebrow to ask if Stiles was serious. Butterflies could hit harder than that. 

"You're aiming for here," Derek said, touching his stomach. 

"You told me too?" Stiles said, the sentence coming out more like a question. 

"If you aim for here, then the fist is going to stop here, there's no energy to keep going. Aim for behind me, as if you want your fist to go right through where I am. That way the energy of your momentum comes into me. Try again," Derek said. Stiles swung a second punch. Derek felt it this time, but barely. The impact was almost non-existent. 

"Think about all the times you called me a monster and a tyrant and channel some of that. Actually hit me." 

"I don't want to," Stiles said. His tone was quieter than before and he didn't quite meet Derek's eyes. Derek found his breath catching in his throat as he realised what Stiles was admitting. Stiles didn't want to hurt him. Derek wasn't sure if it was through fear of what might happen to his dad, or because Stiles just didn't want to hurt him. 

"Stiles," Derek said, "if you can land one good punch, one that actually hurts, I will let you and your dad have a steak dinner together tonight." 

Stiles swung a punch. A moment later, Derek bent forward as the impact went through his guts, and knocked the breath out of him. Stiles had surprising strength when he wanted to use it. 

Around them, the gym had fallen silent. Those working on the machines had stopped, the other sparring couples had turned to stare, and everyone had their eyes on Derek and Stiles. Even Boyd had taken a step forward from his place against the wall. Derek straightened. 

"Much better," he informed Stiles, whose look of terror faded slightly at the praise. "Now that you know what it should feel like to punch someone, go and practice on that." He gestured to a punch bag away from the mats, which would measure the force behind each punch. "I should get back to work." 

He hadn't managed to get much exercise himself, but the trip to the gym had served the purpose of distracting him from the looming meeting with Deucalion, so that was good enough. He walked out of the gym and Boyd fell into step beside him, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face. 

***

Stiles hurried through the corridors of the ship, pleased when his cuff failed to beep a warning at him as he was about to cross his normal boundaries. His dad was going to be surprised to see him. He just hoped that Derek had remembered to give the orders to the guards on duty so that they didn't think this was some kind of ill-conceived escape attempt. 

Thankfully, the woman on duty outside the cells today opened the door for Stiles without question. She stepped into the cell and gave the order for Stiles' dad to back up against the far wall. 

"What's going on?" Stiles' dad asked. 

"Against the wall," the woman ordered. 

"It's OK," Stiles said. 

Only then did his dad turn his back and place his hands on the wall, a position no doubt practiced. Stiles crossed to the barriers as the woman deactivated them, and then Stiles was inside, throwing his arms around his dad in a hug before the barriers were even up again. The guard left them to it and shut the door behind her on her way out. 

"Stiles," his dad said, hugging him close. "What is this? What's happening?" 

He sounded scared. Stiles had meant this as a nice surprise, not something bad. 

"It's OK," he said again. "We're having dinner together." 

He went to the food dispenser in the wall and waved his card at it. A moment later, the hatch opened to reveal two plates of synth steak with vegetables, which Stiles took out quickly. There were flimsy, plastic knives this time, but Stiles supposed that was fair enough. He held a plate out to his dad, who didn't look any less worried than he'd been earlier. 

"I punched Derek in the stomach." 

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, judging by the horror and increased fear on his dad's face. 

"Is this our last meal?" 

"What?" The question caught Stiles off guard. "No." Then because he felt it needed repeating. "No. No one's being executed. This is a reward." 

"Overlord Hale is rewarding you for punching him in the stomach?" 

"When you put it like that, of course it sounds odd," Stiles said. He sat down on the bench and wondered how he was supposed to balance his plate and cut his steak. He ended up shifting along the bench so that he could put the plate down beside him and still leave his dad plenty of room to sit. 

"Stiles, what is this about?" 

"I was in the gym and Derek decided I needed to learn some basics of combat. He was trying to show me how to throw a punch without hurting myself, but I wasn't really putting a lot of strength into it because, well, he's the overlord and his bodyguard was watching. So Derek got sick of me not hitting hard enough and told me that if I punched him properly, we'd get to have a steak dinner together. So here we are." 

Stiles finally managed to cut a piece of the steak with his ridiculously blunt knife and put it in his mouth. His dad hadn't touched his food. He stared down at the plates. 

"Are you sure these aren't poisoned?" 

"If Derek was going to kill us, he wouldn't use poison. That was supposed to sound more reassuring than that." 

"No... No, you're probably right about that. I just don't understand why he would teach an enemy how to fight." 

The answer to that seemed obvious to Stiles, but he could understand why his dad, trapped in here, only able to see Stiles for a couple of hours a day, might not see it so easily, so Stiles said, "I guess he doesn't think of me as an enemy anymore. I mean, I've been helping him with research and I helped put together the mining safety reform policy, and now I'm trying to find examples of corruption in II for him to use as evidence when he meets with some important general about improving the military." 

"And how do you feel about helping him?" his dad asked. 

Stiles considered the question for a minute before he answered. "He wants to be a good leader. He wants to help people and make the galaxy a better place. I want to help him with that. He's not as prepared to make big changes as I might like, he seems to think that as soon as he even hints about disrupting the status quo someone will try and kill him and steal his throne or something, but he's still trying to improve things and I think helping him do that is the right thing to do." 

"Even if he is a despot?" 

"The Argents killed Talia Hale and the result was Peter Hale on the throne. If the rebels somehow get rid of Derek," Stiles didn't even dare think the word 'kill', "then who's to say someone else wouldn't claim the throne? Someone worse? Maybe it's better to try and make Derek a better leader than do try and replace him." 

Stiles offered his dad a hopeful smile, and didn't know what to make of the sad look his dad gave him in return.


	34. Chapter 31

They finally reached the Coriolis Base, a military space station orbiting a gas giant near the heart of the galaxy. It was pretty much central of Derek's empire and so acted as the hub for military command. Even approaching it was a pain, passing through mine fields and past checkpoints that verified the ship's identity. Derek sat on the bridge for once, providing personal authorisation to speed this process up. Deucalion sent two smaller ships to act as honour guard but Derek couldn't help feeling that they were herding his ship, but at least that meant they weren't challenged for their identity any further. His warship passed through the layers of defences and soon the Coriolis station itself filled up the screen in front of him. 

The base was an ugly thing, made of large, spinning circles around a hub, with docking ports poking out from around it. The docking ports were all extended away from the station as a safety measure, so that each one could be severed if an enemy ship docked or if the station itself was in danger of destruction and needed to release any moored ships before they could get caught up in any disaster. The end result looked like some sort of mutated insect, with legs sticking off in all direction. 

Inside, he knew from previous visits, was spectacular, with all the latest technology and equipment, but from the outside, Derek hated the sight of the place. 

His ship approached one of the insect legs and Derek went down to the hatch where the rest of his team were gathering. His team, in this case, consisted of his security team and Stiles. He hadn't been sure about bringing Stiles with him, but it was possible Deucalion might have some questions about the instances of corruption in II and he might want Stiles at hand to answer those questions. Besides, it was probably a good idea for Stiles to get a break from the ship once in a while. 

The thought occurred that he ought to revisit the idea of granting planet leave to the crew. He'd started working on that and then been too busy with the mining policy, the prisoners on Afgurn, and now trying to fix the institutional corruption within his military, and somehow he'd never got back to it. This was the problem; there was always something more pressing to deal with. 

He hatch light came on, indicating equal pressure, solid seal, and expected atmospheric mix on the other side, so Derek gave the nod to Boyd to open the hatch up. Boyd led the way into the station, Isaac and Erica falling into position on either side of him. Stiles brought up the rear, clutching a computer in case he needed any of his notes. Derek wished now that he'd thought to get Stiles some better clothes for this mission, maybe even a uniform, rather than just one of the ratty, prisoner outfits he'd been wearing since his arrival. It was too late now, so Derek ignored the issue of Stiles' untidiness, about walked out to face Deucalion, who was standing in front of a line of his staff. He'd given Deucalion more warning than he'd given the commander of Afgurn, so he wasn't surprised to see the perfectly orderly line-up. 

Deucalion's uniform was pressed and neat, his silvery eyes glinting in the light. He saluted smartly and Derek returned the gesture, trying not to stare too long at those artificial eyes. Once, when he was younger, he'd remarked a little too loudly that those eyes were creepy. His mother had berated him in private for his rudeness, telling him how Deucalion had lost his eyes defending them from enemies, and made him sit next to Deucalion at a banquet. At the end of the meal, Derek had decided that it was Deucalion he found creepy and not just his eyes, but he'd decided to keep that conclusion to himself. Even now, as an adult, there was something unnerving about the prosthetic eyes, which didn't have a defined pupil and which made it very difficult to tell what the man was focusing on. 

"Overlord Hale," Deucalion said with a smile, "welcome to Coriolis Base. It is an honour to have you here." 

"Thank you, General." 

"I believe you know my second-in-command, Colonel Kali." 

The dark-haired woman to his right stepped up to Deucalion's side and saluted smartly. Derek returned this salute too. 

"Of course," Derek said. 

Deucalion gestured to the woman on his other side, "This is my head of administration, Ms Morrell." 

This woman didn't salute, but bowed shortly. She wasn't in uniform, but wearing a suit that was clearly tailored and expensive. Derek should get Stiles something like that. Maybe he should give Lydia free rein over Stiles' wardrobe before the next meeting. 

"Do you wish to have a tour of the station?" Deucalion asked. "Or do you wish to proceed straight to the meeting?" 

"The meeting please," Derek said. A tour of a place as large as Coriolis could take hours and he wanted to get this meeting over and done with. Deucalion smiled his agreement and, at a word of command, his soldiers formed into two neatly marching lines that led the way through to the transport pod. Because of the size of Coriolis, there were transport pods that could carry people through the station, saving them a very long walk from the end of the docking arm to the main station. Boyd insisted on walking in before Derek, who followed with the rest of his team. Most of Deucalion's people stayed outside because the pod wasn't that large, but he kept Kali and Morrell with him. Derek wondered if those left outside would be able to call another pod or if they would have to trek back to the heart of the station. 

The journey was short but uncomfortably awkward and Derek wished he could freely chat with Stiles or his team, but he didn't want to be seen as informal by the general. His uncle had always thought it a great failing that Derek treated his team as friends as well as employees, and he suspected Deucalion would see it the same way. Derek had never been good at small talk and he felt unsure of what to say to Deucalion, not wanting to jump into his meeting topics early but not wanting to waste time with trivialities. The end result was a mostly silent ride. 

Out of the pod, there was only a short walk to a small conference room. The polished table only had four seats around it, so Derek guessed that some of their group would be expected to stand for the whole meeting. Derek was glad for the sake of his feet that no one would expect that to be him. 

"Would you care for some refreshment, Overlord?" Ms Morrell asked. 

"No. Thank you." 

Derek started for the table, aiming for a seat that would let him face the door. Stiles moved, without invitation, to take the seat beside him. 

"Perhaps your bodyguards and," Deucalion glanced at Stiles was no attempt to disguise his distaste, "guest, would like to wait in the room next door. This meeting could take some time and I'm sure they could be more comfortable." 

"They remain with me," Derek said. 

"There are some issues we must discuss of a sensitive nature and it may be better to do so privately," Deucalion said. Derek was getting more on edge by the moment. Why would Deucalion insist on speaking to him alone? Why would he try to separate him from his bodyguards? It could be perfectly innocent, wanting them not to get bored, but he was distrustful of the suggestion. From the tension all of his security team were displaying, they felt the same way. Erica's hand was closer to her gun than it normally would be at a meeting with someone who had loyally worked for his family for years, and Boyd was barely blinking as he watched Deucalion and his associates. 

"My people are discrete," Derek said. "And my bodyguards are more comfortable when they can keep me in their sights. You know how bodyguards are." He said this with a little smile, as though he was making light of the situation, but he tried to keep his voice hard. He wasn't going to budge on this, even sitting in the room with his ally, surrounded by his own officers. 

"I understand," Deucalion said. "I can appreciate the need for protocol with regards to your staff, but I think in a moment you will understand why I thought you might prefer a little privacy. There is someone here I think you should meet." 

This was not how Derek had expected this meeting to begin and he didn't like anything about this. Beside him, Stiles squirmed as though he were sitting on a hive of insects, clearly no happier than Derek was. Derek started to suspect that one of his team might start shooting if Deucalion didn't back down. None of this made sense. What could Deucalion possibly think was so important that Derek would want to discuss it alone? 

Unless it was to do with the corruption topic. Did Deucalion suspect someone in his team was corrupt? Derek knew that wasn't a possibility. If Deucalion did want to talk about the possibility, Derek was happy to have that conversation right in front of them. But then who was it Deucalion thought he should meet? 

The general brought his comm unit up to his face and said, "Show her in." 

The conference room door slid open and a young woman walked into the room. Derek could only gape. This was impossible. She was different from how Derek remembered her, older and a little thinner, but her face was still the same as ever. She looked at him and gave a nervous little smile, and Derek found he could barely breathe. 

How was this possible? How was she here? How was she even alive? 

A thousand possibilities raced through his head. Had the Argents captured her on the night of the bombing? Had she somehow fled the palace but been injured so that she couldn't remember her identity? Had she decided to flee from the obligations and duties of royal life? Had she chosen to vanish for years or was she the victim of some cruel plot? And then, the question that kept returning again and again, was this even real? 

"Cora?" he said. He half expected her vanish, disappearing into mist as soon as he dared give voice to her name, but she remained solid, standing in front of him. She gave a little, nervous smile. 

"Hey, Derek."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the appropriate phrase is "mwa ha ha ha". 
> 
> :)


	35. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't really think I'd resolve a cliffhanger that evil so quickly, did you? :)

Stiles was beyond confused. He wouldn't have known the girl in front of him, but it was clear Derek did. The astonishment on his face was such that Stiles wouldn't have been surprised if he fainted. When he said the name, Stiles understood the reason for the shock. Derek had talked about his younger sister Cora, one of the victims of the Argent bombing. Cora Hale had died that night, everyone knew that. And yet here she, apparently, was. 

"Now you understand why I thought you might prefer privacy," Deucalion said. "Her highness's story is not one for general knowledge and doesn't wish to discuss it in front of strangers." 

Stiles was suspicious. How did they know that this really was Cora Hale? People had surgery done to change their appearance, so there was no way to be sure that this was the same person. If she was, then where the hell had she been for all these years? 

"Please take Overlord Hale's people next door and make them comfortable," Deucalion told Morrell. This time, Derek didn't argue, but he looked too shocked to even be thinking right now. 

Boyd stepped up to Derek and said quietly, "Sir, I don't like this." 

Stiles was inclined to agree with Boyd. 

Derek looked like he was hesitating, like he might dismiss Deucalion's order, but then the girl, Cora, said, "Please, Derek." 

"Go with her," Derek said. The security trio looked concerned but they moved to obey. Stiles had never been particularly good about following orders. 

"There's something incredibly suspicious about this," he said in a whisper, not moving from his seat. "She might not even be Cora. You shouldn't just..." 

"Stiles!" Derek snapped. The look he shot Stiles was harsher than any he'd worn before. For a moment, he looked like the man he was reputed to be. Derek looked at Boyd and ordered, "Take him with you." 

When Stiles made no move to get up, Boyd stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Stiles' arm, pulling him from the chair. Before he was forced out of the room, Stiles bent low beside Derek and whispered, "Don't come crying to me when she turns out to be an evil, robot imposter." 

Then Boyd's insistent towing had him at the door. Morrell was there to show them to the other room, which was literally next door to the conference room but presumably sound-proofed so that they wouldn't be able to hear any of Derek's reunion with his sister. Assuming that she really was his sister. This room had a couch and some chairs that looked more comfortable than those in the conference room, as well as a drinks machine and food dispenser, so maybe the general really had meant it about wanting them to be comfortable. Or maybe he just wanted them to think he meant it. 

The four of them were alone in the room and Morrell closed the door behind them. Stiles turned to Boyd. "Derek shouldn't be alone with her. We don't even know who she really is." 

"We are following our overlord's orders," Boyd said, even though he said it in a way that made it seem like that idea angered or hurt him. 

"I think Stiles has a point," Erica said. 

"Why not just ask you to wait outside the door? I mean, you do that plenty of times normally so that wouldn't be weird, and then you'd be a bit closer if Derek needs you. Why a separate room?" 

Isaac added, "Derek ordered us out of the room but he didn't explicitly say that we have to _stay_ in this room. Maybe one of us should wait outside the conference room anyway?" 

"We'll take shifts," Boyd said. He seemed a little happier about this decision. Stiles still wasn't happy, partly out of concern for Derek but also because there was something weird about this whole situation and he was curious as hell. He wanted to know what Cora's story was, what Deucalion's explanation for her presence here was. But he would admit that having one of the security trio standing guard outside the conference room door was probably as good as it was going to get. 

Boyd turned to the door of the little room they'd been herded into and pressed the open switch. Nothing happened. Boyd pressed the switch again and the door failed to open. Boyd swore. Stiles would have made an 'I told you so' speech but he was too busy worrying about what was going to happen now that they'd been locked in here. They'd been separated from Derek and locked in this room and there was no way anything good could be happening to Derek right now. There was no other exit to the room, but Boyd pulled out his gun as though he intended to shoot through the door. 

"Guys," Isaac said, nervousness in his voice. He pointed to an air vent up near the ceiling, already backing away from it. It was entirely possible that the faint vapour just about visible as it left the vent was just part of the environmental systems' operations, but Stiles was no going to believe that when they'd been sealed in here. At best, the gas was something to knock them out, at worst, it was going to kill them. Either way, it was not going to be good for them. 

Boyd put his gun away, maybe worrying that the gas might ignite, and pulled out his knife. He took a deep breath and held it as he started to work the knife blade under the edge of the door control panel to lever it off the wall. 

Stiles held his breath too and then had a moment of glorious joy as he realised which pants he'd picked up today and that there was still a small lump in one pocket. He still had the breather mask he'd been given on Afgurn, the one he'd kept meaning to give back to Erica. He yanked it out of the pocket and opened the thing out, a thin layer of filter that opened into a curved shape that would fit around his mouth and nose. He pressed the mask to his face, trying to make the seal tight around his face and then drew in a couple of deep breaths. He could just stay here, breathing through this, and probably be safe from whatever was in the gas, but he couldn't risk the chance that it was poisonous. He couldn't just stand here and watch the others die. If nothing else, he didn't think he'd survive long without them and someone needed to help Derek. 

He took one last good breath and then held it, peeling the mask from his face and then pressing it to Boyd's. Boyd didn't even pause his work on the door panel. He took three deep breaths and then nodded, and Stiles took the mask away, handing it to Erica. She breathed for a few seconds then handed it to Isaac. 

"Why do you even have this?" Isaac asked, through the filter, before handing it back round to Stiles, who had to gasp for a moment before he could answer speaking as quickly as possible. 

"Never gave it back after Afgurn." 

He held the mask back over Boyd's face. And so it went round and round. The gas was the same colour as the normal air of the room, so they couldn't know if it was all around them, or already cleared by the ventilation system. None of them dared breathe except when it was their turn with the mask, and being able to breath only a quarter of the time didn't seem enough. Each time the mask came back to him, Stiles wanted to keep it for a second more, but he knew he couldn't because the others were feeling this as badly as he was. 

Boyd got the cover off the door controls and was hooking a portable computer up to a small access port, entering his official security credentials to override the authority of the lock. Stiles got the feeling that the others were getting impatient at how long this was taking, even though they couldn't really express that frustration verbally, and he suspected that this would have taken a lot less time on the warship. 

At last, a tiny indicator light went green. 

Stiles held the mask back to Boyd's face and he said, "Hold your breath until the door's closed. First priority: get to Derek." 

He had his knife in hand again, and the other two held guns. Stiles might have asked for a weapon but it wasn't his turn with the mask. 

Boyd triggered something and the door slid open. The four of them piled out into the corridor. The second in command, Kali, was standing outside, obviously startled by their arrival. Boyd leapt at her, knife already raised. Stiles just stood out of the way, dragging in deep, gasping lungfuls of air as soon as the door to the room had shut behind them. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in there, probably mere minutes, but it felt like forever since he'd been able to breathe. 

The effect of lack of air was probably the reason Kali wasn't dead instantly when the security trio went for her. Even in her surprised state, she managed to slash some sort of weapon across Boyd's stomach, and there was a splatter of red on the clean deck. Then Isaac and Erica were there, jumping into the fight on either side of Boyd even as he staggered back. 

Kali swung her leg up in a kick that went impressively high, swiping across Isaac's face and sending him staggering. Erica went for Kali from behind, getting an arm round her neck, going in for a choke-hold, but Kali flung her off like she weighed nothing and she slammed into a wall. She was already moving against Isaac again, scratching at his arm and sending more drops of blood flying. 

That was when Boyd went for his gun. Until this point, the trio had been trying to subdue Kali, to catch or contain her, but clearly Boyd had had enough with the merciful approach. He brought his gun out but Kali noticed. She jumped at him, feet slamming into his chest and knocking him to the ground, but then she was already running over his fallen body, making for the nearest corner and escape. 

By the time Stiles even thought about trying to stop her, she was past him and gone. Isaac started after her. 

"Wait!" Boyd ordered. "Derek first." 

Isaac stopped. Erica had staggered to her feet. All three of the security team seemed pretty badly hurt, which was ridiculous given that it had been three against one. Stiles looked at Boyd, who was closest, seeing the cuts across his stomach. Deep lines were sliced through his shirt and flesh beneath, like claw marks. 

"What the hell?" Stiles asked. 

"Later," was all Boyd said. He turned for the door to the conference room where they'd left Derek, finding this door as unwilling to open as the one in the room next door. He got his knife again to start to work overriding the locking mechanism as before. 

Stiles could only watch, fidgeting anxiously and wondering what was going on inside. It had been mere minutes since they'd left that room, but it was plenty of time for something awful to have happened to Derek. Stiles was surprised to find how worried he was, how much he wanted Derek to be alright. Stiles cared about Derek being safe, which was a realisation he didn't know quite what to do with.


	36. Chapter 33

Derek barely noticed the others leaving. He couldn't take his eyes off Cora, off his sister, who was somehow standing in front of him after all this time. He wasn't alone anymore. The idea that one of his family might still be alive, even after everything, was so big that he couldn't fit it in his head. 

But Stiles' words were pushing their way into his mind, elbowing his astonished joy aside to make themselves heard again. Stiles didn't believe this was real, thought this might be a trick, that Cora might be an imposter. Of course, Stiles didn't know Cora. Derek tried to dismiss the fear, but he knew he could have to address the question sooner or later. How could this be Cora? Was this Cora? She looked so like Cora, and if she really was his sister, he couldn't hurt her by refusing to believe, or demanding that she undergo genetic testing. 

He stood beside the conference table, staring at her. He wanted to drag her into his arms but he didn't know if he should. It wasn't just that he couldn't be completely certain she was really Cora, but if she was, would she even want him to hug her? It had been six years since they'd last seen each other. He couldn't just assume the closeness that used to be there. 

The awkward silence dragged on as Morrell and Kali left the room with the others, so it was just Derek, Cora, and Deucalion. Derek looked at Deucalion. This was at least something he could find a reaction to. He didn't want a man he didn't particularly like intruding on his reunion with his sister. 

"Please give us some privacy too," he said, trying to make it sound like a request instead of an order. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Deucalion refused. 

But Deucalion just smiled and said, "Of course." He followed the others out of the room. 

Derek looked back at his sister. 

"Cora," he said her name again because he wasn't sure what else he should say, what else he could say. 

"I missed you," she said. 

She stepped towards him, and then hesitated. Derek wondered if she was feeling just as uncertain as he was, unsure if she would be welcome. He opened his arms out to her, an invitation, and she gave another little, awkward smile and stepped into the hug. 

It felt different. Of course it felt different; they were both older than they'd been the last time they'd been together, taller, more grown. So much time had been lost. 

"I thought you were dead," Derek said. 

"I'm sorry." 

Derek started to say that she had nothing to apologise for, but then he felt a sharp stab of pain in his hip. He stepped back, looking down at his side. There was no sign of any injury, but in Cora's hand was a medical injector. 

"What the hell?" Derek demanded. 

Cora backed away quickly, putting the conference table between in a few steps. Derek took a step towards her, but found his legs failing beneath him, the muscles no longer responding properly to his commands. He grabbed hold of the nearest chair to try and stay upright, but the feel of it beneath his fingers was wrong too, like he was gripping it through thick gloves and could barely pick up on the sensation. 

"What did you do?" he asked. 

"A simple paralytic," Cora answered. 

"Why?" 

"Because you're more useful alive and cooperating than dead." 

"I don't understand," Derek said. Despite his best efforts, his legs crumpled beneath him and he fell into an untidy heap. He tried to shift himself, to get some dignity, to get a position from which it would be better to talk to Cora, but nothing much was responding anymore. 

Cora moved into his line of sight, smirking down at him. 

"You never were that bright, big brother. Just another reason why I'll make a much better overlord than you." 

"You're not my sister." He was certain of it now. Cora wouldn't attack him like this, no matter what she might have gone through in the past six years. 

"All the genetics tests will say differently," she said, still smirking. 

That was when Derek understood. The research into genetic manipulation that Deucalion had been so keen on, it wasn't about creating better soldiers, or at least not just about that. It had been about cloning. With a sample of Cora's DNA, he must have been able to create this young woman, someone who would match the genetic tests to prove her right to claim the throne, but who would be under Deucalion's control. 

How long had Deucalion been planning this? Since Peter's death? Since the fire? Since before? A clone would still need time to grow like any other person, even if Deucalion had managed to research some way to speed up the development process, so he had to have been planning this for years. 

Derek knew then that his sister was dead. She had to be. This girl standing over him might have her DNA, but she wasn't Cora. 

She went over to the door and opened it. Derek couldn't see who entered from his immobile position on the floor, but he heard Deucalion's voice. 

"Well done, Cora. I knew you would be able to get past his defences." 

Derek hadn't really had any defences. He'd just let her close without hesitation. He'd let Deucalion separate him from his security team despite both Boyd and Stiles warning him against it. Maybe the false Cora was right; he really wasn't that smart. 

"What have you done to my team?" Derek asked. 

Deucalion walked into Derek's line of sight. He gestured to Cora and she grabbed him, hauling him into a chair. Derek's body moved like a limp doll and he couldn't do a thing to fight her. At least upright he could see better, even if he did need Cora's hands on his shoulders keeping him from falling off again. 

"Strange," Deucalion said, "that your first question would be for them. Just another reason why you're unsuitable to lead." 

The fact that he hadn't answered the question filled Derek with dread. 

"My team?" he demanded, trying to keep his tone as firm as he could given that he was utterly helpless right now. 

"They're taking a little nap," Deucalion said. "If you cooperate, there's no reason for me to hurt them. I'll even let you take them with you when you go into exile." 

"Exile? You must really think I'm stupid if you think I'd believe you'd just let me live." 

"Oh, there would be certain conditions, certain precautions. You will abdicate the throne in favour of your sister. Once you've made your stirring speech about her survival and how the empire will be better off in her hands, we will let you take a comfortable retirement. We will see to it that all your needs are met, so long as you make an occasional announcement supporting your sister's decisions, endorsing her rule. We wouldn't want anyone to decide that you want help reclaiming the throne." 

Deucalion wanted Derek to legitimise this coup. If Derek officially stepped down, who would argue? If he was seen to be speaking out in Cora's favour, it would prevent any pro-Derek faction from challenging her rule. Assuming there even would be a pro-Derek faction. 

"You will pay for this treason," Derek said, fixing Deucalion with a glare, even though he knew how hollow that threat was. If Deucalion was telling the truth, then the people he could rely on to fight for him had already been neutalised. If he was lying, then they were probably dead. Derek was suddenly struck by how little power he had on his own. 

He needed the others and he'd stupidly sent them away. 

"You shouldn't worry about my fate," Deucalion said. "Worry about your own. Keeping you alive and cooperating is worth something, but keeping you alive if you refuse to cooperate is worth nothing. There are other ways to get what I want." 

Derek glanced at Cora, this young woman who looked so much like his sister, who would apparently be close enough to pass the DNA tests. Presumably there was nothing stopping Deucalion from cloning Derek too. Perhaps he already had. Derek wasn't sure why Deucalion would even bother with this if he did have a clone of him, but it was possible that the six year age difference between him and Cora meant that his clone wasn't ready yet. 

But Derek didn't want to give Deucalion anything. He didn't want to be complicit in his own defeat. 

"Go to hell." 

"If you don't care about your own life," Deucalion said. "perhaps you'll care about the lives of your team? Perhaps you care about that little pet prisoner who you let whisper in your ear about ridiculous policies and reforms." 

Deucalion didn't bother to hide his dislike as he spoke of Stiles. Derek wondered if Stiles was why Deucalion was making this move now. Derek had decided he would look into the corruption in the military and had even threatened to move money from the cloning projects. Deucalion must have seen his window of opportunity closing, and that was all because of the conversations Derek and Stiles had been having. 

But Deucalion would let Stiles live if Derek cooperated. He would let Boyd and the security team live. This might be the only way he could save them, because there was no way he was fighting out of here in his condition, and he couldn't even reach for his comm to call the crew of his warship. He could do nothing except talk to Deucalion, and either agree or disagree. 

Deucalion must have seen some of the hesitation in Derek's face, because he pressed the point. 

"We can keep your boy toy alive and let you take him with you to your exile," he said, "or your sister can do what a true leader would have done to begin with and properly punish a rebel." 

There was no subtlety, no room for doubt. If Derek refused to do what Deucalion wanted, then Stiles would be killed, and probably tortured too. The terror that filled Derek was stronger than he would have imagined it could be. The mere thought of Stiles suffering like that was enough to make his blood run cold. 

He looked at Deucalion and knew that the general had won. 

Then the door opened.


	37. Chapter 34

Stiles was ready to explode with impatience when Boyd finally managed to get the door open. Erica, as the least hurt of the trio, led the way inside, gun drawn. The other two were right behind her. Isaac had his gun drawn too, but Boyd was still holding his knife. Stiles wanted to push past them to get a better view of the room, but he was aware that would be a ridiculously foolish idea, so he stayed behind the heavily-armed, combat-trained professionals. 

The trio froze, and Stiles peeked between two shoulders to see Derek in one of the conference chairs. Cora spun the chair around as they entered, positioning herself behind it and holding a knife to Derek's throat. Derek didn't make a move, no doubt because of the knife, but his eyes flitted over the trio, taking in the blood. The trio were more concerned with him. 

"Sir," Boyd said, "are you hurt?" 

Isaac's gun was aimed at Cora's head but he would have to be a very good shot to avoid hitting Derek with how they'd positioned themselves. Erica's gun was aimed at Deucalion. She stood a better chance of hitting him, but for now, no one moved. If Erica shot Deucalion, Cora might kill Derek. Even if Isaac hit Cora, that knife might slice Derek's neck on the way down. Of course, if she did kill Derek, there would be absolutely nothing that would stop the trio opening fire. 

"She injected me with a paralytic," Derek said. So his motionless state wasn't just fear of the knife. This would cause problems. He wouldn't be able to help himself in a fight, or even walk out of here if they could somehow take out Cora and Deucalion. 

"You're more resourceful than I expected," Deucalion said, "but I don't know what you hope to achieve. Do you really think you can fight your way out of here? Past all my soldiers?" 

"Soldiers that serve the empire," Boyd said. "That serve Derek." 

Deucalion's smirk was full of triumph. Stiles wanted to roll his eyes at Boyd's faith that the soldiers would listen to Derek's orders over the orders of the man who was in direct command of them day after day. Deucalion had probably cultivated the crew here for this very purpose, making sure that the people closest to him would be the ones who would stand by him, even as he committed treason. Kali and Morrell had been a part of it, but it was impossible to know whether the others on this base were in on the plot or were just innocent bystanders. They couldn't know one way or the other. 

From the look on Deucalion's face though, he thought he knew. This wasn't going to go well for them. Derek, however, seemed to have other ideas. 

"Surrender now," he said, "and I will see that your life is spared." 

Deucalion laughed. "Do you really think you can make threats? Even if you did somehow get away from me, defeat my soldiers, and have me at your mercy, keeping me alive would be a very foolish thing to do, even for you. I don't believe you would risk showing me mercy, so there is no reason for me to give up my chance at victory." 

"You offered to keep me alive," Derek pointed out. "Wouldn't that be just as foolish?" 

"You are a lot less of a threat to me than I would be to you." 

"Arrogant much," Stiles muttered. Then realised a moment later that he'd said it out loud, when Deucalion and Derek both fixed their eyes on him. 

"I'm just saying," Stiles said, "this guy is the legal ruler empire, can overturn your commands, and has control of civilian government, and your reaction to that is that he's not much of a threat? That takes guts." 

"Stiles," Derek growled. "Shut up." 

"Sure. Fine. I'm shutting up. You guys can carry on monologuing." 

Because Deucalion had been talking a lot. He hadn't made a move to attack them, or disarm them, or do much of anything. He'd just been talking. The realisation hit him a moment too later: Deucalion was stalling for time. 

There were footsteps outside the conference room. Stiles spun and saw Kali approaching, but she hadn't returned alone. On one side of her was a huge guy, on the other a pair of guys who looked identical. All looked ready for a fight. Boyd spun to face the new arrivals, drawing his gun now in place of his knife, but they kept coming, moving slowly down the hallway. If Boyd started shooting, this was all going to go to hell. This had already gone to hell. They were outnumbered, they were trapped, and Cora still had a knife to Derek's throat. There was no way in hell they were going to fight their way out of this one and be in any condition to make it back to the ship. Even if they could drag Derek out of this room, it was a hell of a long way out along the docking arm to reach safety. And even then, safety wouldn't be all that safe because there were all the defences around the Coriolis base and all the ships that answered to Deucalion. 

And all of that didn't matter because Cora had that knife there and could kill Derek the moment one of them made a wrong move. There was no point even worrying about the million ways this could go painfully wrong later until they someone done something about that knife but none of them could even get close to her without bloodshed. 

"You should drop your weapons and surrender," Deucalion said. 

"Not going to happen," Erica snarled. 

"Do you really think four of you can rescue your overlord and get to safety?" 

Stiles knew that they were all going to die if they tried to fight, or worse, end up prisoners ready to be tortured to try and motivate Derek. He didn't have any time to think of a clever plan to get them out of this so he had to go with a really, really bad one. There only seemed to be one thing that wouldn't end in death. 

"Three of them," he corrected Deucalion. 

"What?" Deucalion gave a confused blink. 

"It's not like I'm part of his security team. I'm his prisoner." He held up his wrist like it was evidence, the security cuff still locked in place. 

"Stiles!" Isaac sounded hurt. If he acted like they were friends, he was going to ruin this. 

"I'm surprised they bothered letting me share their breather masks and didn't just let me choke on whatever gas you pumped into that room." He waved a hand in the direction of the room next door. Deucalion had no way to know that he'd been the one with a mask, but the other three would. They would know he was lying. He just had to hope they would understand. 

"I surrender," Stiles continued. "You can do whatever you like to the rest of them, but just leave me out of it." 

Kali and her little group had stopped outside the door, just beyond Boyd's reach, but they didn't attack yet. They were looking to Deucalion for orders, and Deucalion was looking at Stiles, puzzlement on his face. 

"You don't care if I kill them? If I kill him?" Deucalion nodded towards Derek. 

"Why would I care? After everything he's done to me, to my dad, I'll help you." Stiles didn't dare look at Derek's face, afraid that he might see hurt there and might give the game away by reacting to it. He kept his eyes fixed on Deucalion. 

"Stiles," Derek said, and that was pain in his voice. Stiles tried not to hear it. If he acted like he cared, he wouldn't be in any position to do any good for Derek or any of them. Derek might ruin this anyway by acting too surprised that Stiles would want to oppose him. 

"I have conditions," Stiles said. If his voice trembled with nervousness, that was for the best. He wanted Deucalion to think he was weak and afraid. He wanted Deucalion to underestimate him. 

"Stiles," Boyd gave him a warning growl. "Shut up and stay out of this." 

Had he caught on? Or was that genuinely what he wanted Stiles to do? It was hard to know, so Stiles just kept going anyway. He'd committed himself to this path. 

"No," he told Boyd. "You don't get to shove me around anymore. You can't hurt me now. No more punches. No more zaps from the security cuff." He turned back to Deucalion, looking past Derek and trying not to see the way that Derek was now glowering at Boyd. Derek still thought Stiles' act was real. 

"I surrender to you," Stiles said, "and I'll help you fight Derek but my dad's been Derek's prisoner for weeks. Let me and my dad go. Please." 

"Stiles, don't," Derek said. "If you think I'm a tyrant, Deucalion will be a thousand times worse." 

"At least he didn't torture my dad!" Stiles snapped, finally looking at Derek, who looked as bad as he'd been afraid he would be. He looked like someone was yanking his insides out through a hole in his heart. 

"But I," Derek started, sounding stricken. If he said something like 'I didn't' then this thing was all over. Stiles ploughed on, not letting him get another word out, trying to look angry and hurt because he didn't have a chance if this didn't look real. 

"At least he didn't decide it was fine to rape me just because he sometimes gave me a nice dinner first," Stiles said, glaring into Derek's eyes, needing him to understand. Derek had never laid a finger on him, would never lay a finger on him so long as there was the slightest hint of doubt about consent. Derek knew he'd never raped Stiles, so he would know that this was all just an act, so he would know that Stiles was doing this on purpose because he had a plan. Well, the start of a plan. Well, a vague idea that might turn into a plan if he got enough time to actually think about it without people pointing weapons all around him. 

"I was kind to you," Derek said. 

"A few moments of kindness don't make up for kidnapping me and torturing my dad for information." 

"Well," Deucalion said, "as interesting as this is, it looks like your little pet has made his decision." He smiled at Stiles, seeming amused by the whole situation. "I accept your surrender." 

Stiles moved away from where he stood by the door, edging around the room towards Deucalion. He choose to go the same side of the conference table as Derek and Cora, positioning himself just a little behind where Cora was standing. He could no longer see Derek's face from here which he was glad about, and with Deucalion still concentrating on the security trio, he wasn't going to be paying as much attention to Stiles. 

Stiles knew he would only get one shot at this. If he attacked and messed it up, they would all end up dead, but if he waited too long, they would lose any opportunity at all. His focus had to be Cora and the knife. The security trio had guns and they were ready to fire. Hopefully that would be enough for them to deal with the others, outnumbered though they were. All he could do was his small part, and trust that the others would handle the rest. 

He waited until Deucalion started talking again, addressing the rest of the trio. 

"Well, are the rest of you going to do the sensible thing too? Are you going..." 

Stiles didn't let him finish the sentence. He leapt at Cora, grabbed he arm, and yanked with all of his strength, pulling the knife away from Derek's neck. Cora started fighting back at once, but as soon as she wasn't holding Derek against the chair, he slumped forward and toppled to the floor, and then the room exploded with laser fire.


	38. Chapter 35

Derek didn't know what to think when Stiles started talking, when he offered his surrender and told Deucalion he would help kill Derek, much less how to feel. There was the shock, of course, and the pain at the realisation of how much Stiles still hated him so much, that he would be willing to throw in his lot with someone like Deucalion and consider it a better option that staying with Derek. He felt the guilt when Stiles talked about Boyd hurting him, anger to learn this, disbelief that his security lead could be so cruel, and the sorrow that it could have happened under his nose without his even realising it. 

Stiles' words felt like a stab of betrayal, but the betrayal was his own, that he could have continued to hurt Stiles so much without even noticing it. And then there was the sense that he had betrayed himself, but letting himself care about someone who clearly despised him and always had. Derek had let himself hope that there might be something, some friendship or respect, between them, but all of that had been his own foolishness. Coming to care for Stiles had been as foolish as walking into Deucalion's trap. In those moments, Derek blamed himself more than he blamed Stiles. 

Then Stiles talked of torture and rape. All the things Stiles had assumed would happen to him as a prisoner of the overlord, all the things that other people would probably believe without question, but things that had never happened. Derek's hurt turned to confusion. 

Stiles was lying to Deucalion. But why? 

The answer was obvious. Stiles wanted Deucalion to think he hated Derek, so he would let his guard down on at least this one front. so Derek played along, made it out like Stiles was telling the truth and they had slept together, a captor showing softness to a favourite prisoner, who went along with the act only out of fear. And then Stiles was out of Derek's sight and Derek had to hope that Stiles' brilliant mind was working on something because right now he couldn't see a way out of this. 

Derek felt the movement more than saw it but then he was falling forward, unable to stop his descent. His face hit the hard floor and all he could see were table legs and feet. There was gunfire, cries of pain, movement all around him, and Derek couldn't even lift his head to see what was happening. He heard Stiles cry out and felt the chill of terror that Stiles had been hurt trying to protect him. He felt again the weight of his foolishness for falling into Deucalion's trap, for letting them all get caught like this, for not even hesitating to let the false Cora close. He hadn't even considered that Deucalion might turn against him. Everything about this situation was his fault and there wasn't a thing he could do to help with any of it. 

Something fell on top of Derek with an oof of pain at the impact. Someone then. Derek barely felt it, but he heard Stiles swearing somewhere near his ear and another burst of gunfire. 

Then Stiles' weight was off him and an arm was around him, hauling him upright. Derek struggled to get his feet under him, trying to help, but finding them as unresponsive as before. Derek got a glimpse of the conference room, the scorch marks and the blood, the singed flesh, of Deucalion in a puddle of red. He saw Cora on the floor, eyes staring up towards the ceiling without seeing it, and it felt like losing his sister all over again. But Stiles didn't let him linger to mourn. He started hauling Derek towards the door and the security trio, all of whom were bleeding but upright. 

"Ugh," Stiles complained. "You either need to go to the gym more or less. Seriously, are your bones made of lead?" 

"Less complaining, more moving," Boyd told him. None of the trio made to help with lifting Derek, which probably made sense since they were the ones better able to find, but it did mean that Derek had to suffer the indignity of being hauled along by someone who needed to do a lot more work on his upper body strength. 

Out in the hallway, there was more, more scorch marks, but Derek was worried by the number of bodies. There didn't seem to be enough of them. The security team didn't comment but kept the little group moving the way they'd been led earlier. There was too much blood on them and Erica was limping badly. 

"Do we risk the transport tube?" she asked. 

"And get stuck in a tin can when they cut the power?" Body said. So Derek was stuck being hauled along by Stiles for the long trek back to the ship. He should have had the meeting on his own ship, where he could have had a full security squad a call away. 

"My comms," Derek said. "Try to call the ship." 

"I tried mine earlier," Erica said. "It was being jammed." 

But it was worth trying Derek's, since his was set to the highest protocols, its signal always meant to go through. Stiles nearly dropped him reaching for the pocket, until Isaac called out, "I'll get it," and went for the comms instead. 

Isaac held it in Derek's hand for the thumb print scanner and tried to activate the security signal. A dull beeping of an unconnected signal was their only response. Derek hadn't hoped for more after Erica's comment but it was still frustrating. 

"What about station comms?" Stiles asked. 

"If Deucalion arranged to jam our personal comms, he will have locked us out of his systems," Boyd said. 

"Not necessarily. They might not have thought to block me because I'm not crew. Here. Hold him." 

Derek found himself thrust at Isaac, who barely managed to grab hold of him before he face-planted on the deck. Did none of them remember he was supposed to be an overlord, with all the dignity that went along with that? He could hardly imagine Peter would allow himself to be tossed from one person to another like an overstuffed bag. Then again, Peter wouldn't have fallen into an obvious trap in the first place. 

Stiles was at a computer outlet on the wall, tapping something into the screen. 

"Come on, are you going to let me in?" he muttered, then an excited, "Yes!" as the screen lit up. 

"Can you comm the ship?" Boyd asked. 

"No, I don't have access to comms, but I'm in the information storage system." 

"What the hell good is that? This is no time to be reading articles on mining reforms." 

Stiles was grinning. "Ah, but Derek gave me stupidly high levels of access, including the ability to request secure files across the boundaries between different ships and bases. I can put in a request for files from the warship's library." 

"That still doesn't help us," Boyd said. "You're wasting time." 

"But which strawberry blond genius works in the library? And who will be alerted about my file requests?" 

Derek felt a surge of hope. Any plan that relied on Stiles' mind and Lydia's was a plan with a firm foundation. Derek wasn't sure how clearly Stiles could spell out his message, whether he could attach a clear note to the request, or if he would spell out their call for help using the file names. Either way, Stiles would send a message and Lydia would receive it. Assuming she noticed the alert in enough time. 

"This won't do us any good if we're cornered here," Boyd said, his impatience clearly not appeased. 

"OK. Done." Stiles logged out of the computer access so it wouldn't be obvious what he'd done. A moment later, he was back at Derek's side, hauling an arm up over his shoulders and taking some of Derek's weight. Isaac stayed holding Derek up on the other side and they moved more quickly, Boyd at the front, Erica behind, both with weapons drawn. 

"I am so glad I didn't give you the lecture about data security and how ridiculously high my authorisation was," Stiles said, a little breathless from the exertion of carrying Derek. 

"I'm glad I trusted you," Derek said in return. There was no time for more conversation. Stiles was breathing hard, obviously struggling under Derek's weight, and Isaac didn't seem to be doing much better. 

Their little group rounded a corner and Derek saw why no one had bothered to pursue them. A security barrier was up across the hallway leading to the warship. The unit who had met them at the docking port as an honour guard were now standing guard, some on either side of the barrier, weapons drawn and aimed at Derek and his team. 

Derek wished he could manage anything resembling a commanding appearance right now, but he was being held upright by Stiles and Isaac. He could at least fix his eyes on the soldiers and address them. 

"An act of treason has been performed here today," Derek said, "but you have not yet committed any crime. Stand down and let us pass, and you will be rewarded for your loyalty. If you open fire on your overlord, you will suffer the most severe punishment that the law can inflict." 

He didn't really believe it would work, but he had to hope. There had to be a chance that some of them would show loyalty, would remember the oaths of service they'd taken, or at least be swayed by the possibility of rewards and punishment. If one of them acted in his favour, then others might follow suit. 

Derek looked across the group of soldiers, and felt that all the power he'd ever had was just a thin facade if it could be shattered so easily. He didn't know these people's names, didn't know who they were or anything about their background, but any one of them could kill him in a heartbeat and he couldn't do a thing to stop it. 

There was a moment of silence, and with each fraction of a second that passed, Derek became less hopeful that anyone had listened to him. Then a man with sergeant's stripes ordered, "Fire on the guards." 

Their group dove back around the corner, Boyd and Erica firing even as laser blasts tore the air from the blockade. Boyd yelled out as a blast caught his side, tearing through his uniform and the flesh beneath. He clung onto the wall to stay upright but managed to keep hold of his own gun. 

Isaac let go of his hold on Derek and grabbed his own gun, firing round the corner before darting back behind cover. Stiles shifted his grip to try and keep from dropping Derek. Erica tried to inspect the wound in Boyd's side, but he shooed her away. 

"Leave it. We'll deal with it later." 

If there was a later. Clearly Boyd didn't think there was much point in applying bandaging or painkillers when he might be dead in two minutes anyway. 

That sense of guilt was back again, the feeling that he had got his friends into this mess. If Boyd died now, whether from that wound or another, his blood would be on Derek's hands and he knew he would never forgive himself. Assuming Derek lived long enough for that to be an issue. The sergeant might have given the order to fire on the guards, but it didn't seem like anyone would care too much if Derek ended up dead, even with the false Cora gone. It was entirely possible that there were a dozen of her somewhere, created just in case Deucalion needed a backup plan. 

"What did Deucalion offer you?" Derek called around the corner. There was quiet now, since no one was showing themselves to be shot at, so he was sure his words were heard. No one answered. 

"Or did he threaten you?" Derek asked. "Did he threaten to take your jobs if you refused? Or threaten to send you somewhere like the Poison Pit for the rest of your days? Or did he threaten your families?" 

Silence again. 

"You have to know that whatever reward he offered you, I can more than match it. The first one of you who stands by the oaths you swore when you entered my service will find yourself rich beyond your dreams." 

Derek wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe he hoped one of the soldiers out there would start shooting the others, call out praise of Overlord Hale, or show some other sign that they'd chosen either honour or the promise of vast piles of wealth, but nothing came. Derek wasn't sure if it was because they didn't believe him, or if they thought he wouldn't survive long enough to make good on his promises. Neither was an option he particularly liked. 

"What do we do, boss?" Erica asked quietly, looking to Derek for orders, and Derek wished he knew what to tell her. He didn't have a plan, didn't have a way out of here. He couldn't see how to get past those soldiers without getting shot and going back into the station would just mean they were even more surrounded by enemies. He couldn't even move himself right now, and it was clear he wasn't going to talk his way out of this. He tried to think of some answer he could give her. 

Then the explosions started.


	39. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter, this story is now my fifth longest fanfic on AO3 and there's still such a long way to go. I'm trying to work out if it's going to be longer than Don't Savage the Messenger by the time it's done. It may well be.

Stiles practically threw Derek to the ground and flung himself on top of him, using his arms to shield both their faces as a wall of flame emerged from the hallway from the direction of the soldiers who had been shooting at them a moment before. Of course, his method of protecting Derek meant that they faces were very, very close together and Stiles' body was sprawled across Derek's. Even with the galaxy apparently blowing up around them, Stiles couldn't help noticing how close they were. He would barely have to move at all, just turn his head a little bit, and their lips would be touching. 

"Derek?" Boyd asked. The fact that he was using his first name was a sure sign of how worried he was. 

"I'm alright," Derek said. Though Stiles wasn't convinced he'd be able to feel if he was injured with the drugs in his system. 

Nothing else seemed about to blow up, so Stiles scrambled to his feet as footsteps approached. He wasn't sure he could do much to fight, but he was determined to put himself between Derek and whoever came round that corner. 

He could have collapsed with relief when he saw that the uniforms bore the gold crown that indicated these soldiers served on the overlord's warship. 

"Boyd!" A newcomer said. "The overlord?" 

"Down here," Derek said. He was still on the floor, face half-pressed against the decking. 

"He requires medical assistance," Boyd said. "Is the route to the ship secure?" 

"Yes, sir." The man waved forward two others to help Derek up, and Stiles was both relieved to not have to carry the ridiculously heavy man while also being hurt that Derek didn't need him anymore. He also wanted to yell at this man for using powerful explosives without checking Derek's position, but given that the explosives had apparently taken out the soldiers and the barrier that had been blocking the way, he supposed he shouldn't complain. 

Alarms started blaring and both Boyd and the new arrival were determined to get them moving. No doubt half the soldiers on this base would be responding to the blast within moments. Stiles found himself hurried only in the middle of the group, nearly running through the blackened corridor, barely able to identify the charred remains around him as having once been people. 

The route to the ship was longer than Stiles would have liked, even not burdened with Derek's body, and Stiles felt every step. A pain in his side he’d been managing to ignore so far was starting to make itself known now that he wasn’t more focused on Derek than himself, and each step seemed to add an extra layer to that pain. Stiles remembered trying to get the knife away from Cora, the scrape of the blade against his skin. He tried to push the thought and the pain to the back of his mind because they had other problems to deal with. Soon the soldiers at their rear were shooting behind them along its length to the forces who were in pursuit of them. Stiles half expected a laser to catch him in the back at any moment, but then they were at the docking port, making their way inside the ship. Stiles found himself pushed through right behind Derek, while the soldiers waited outside the bottleneck, still shooting. 

Inside the ship was at chaotic as outside, though here it was with medics and officers shouting orders. 

"Launch the ship as soon as the last person is on board," Derek was saying, as the soldiers who'd been carrying him laid him on a stretcher. 

"That order has already been given," said Lydia, making her way through the press of bodies. 

"I need to be on the bridge," Derek said. 

"You need to be in medical," Lydia said. 

"I'm fine. They drugged me with something, but I'm not injured. I'm going to the bridge and that's an order." 

"One of your security team should be with you," Boyd said, even though he was already sitting on another stretcher, the medic they'd saved from Afgurn inspecting the wound on his side and the bleeding gashes on his chest. He seemed to have gained another cut, this one on his forehead, that Stiles hadn't noticed before and it was bleeding hard. Scott was assisting his mother, dabbing at the cut, while other medics tended to Isaac and Erica. One was trying to get Stiles' attention, but he hadn't suffered more than a few bruises and that shallow cut from Cora's knife that wasn’t worth thinking about when there was still so much danger for Derek. Stiles was more interested in the exchange between Derek and Boyd than someone telling him he needed his injury sealing. He’d be fine. 

"You are going to medical," Derek said. "I'll be fine." 

"Sir," Boyd said, standing up despite the obvious pain and the protests of the medic. "After everything that's happened today, you are to have one of your security team with you at all times." 

"Fine," Derek said, then he gestured at Scott. "You. You're now part of my personal security team. Congratulations." 

"What?" Scott said. 

Derek turned to some of the soldiers, who seemed less inclined to argue than Boyd, and ordered that he be taken to the bridge. Scott, still looking confused, followed along beside the stretcher. Stiles hurried after them, not wanting to let Derek out of his sight for a moment. Given all the chaos, no one seemed entirely sure of what was going on and no one bothered to question whether Stiles was allowed to be there. It was probably helped by Lydia walking beside him and demanding to know what had happened on the station. 

She had probably guessed some of it, given that Stiles had requested files about ambushes and betrayals, attempted coups, and then a paper on the history of coded calls for assistance, but Stiles gave her the summary version on the elevator ride to the bridge: Deucalion trying to separate them, the Cora Hale who probably wasn't Cora, the gas, the fight, the fleeing for their lives. 

"What happened to Deucalion?" she asked. 

"I think he's dead," Stiles said. 

"You think?" 

"There was a lot of blood, OK, and Derek couldn't move. I didn't exactly stop to check his pulse." 

"You should have checked." 

"Lydia," Derek said, his tone with a hint of warning to it. In this small elevator, he must have heard every word. 

The elevator doors opened and Derek didn't immediately order Stiles to leave the bridge, which Stiles took as basically being the same as permission to stay. He hadn't been on the bridge since the first day he was brought here, dragged before Derek's big, impressive chair as a prisoner. The bridge seemed a lot less intimidating now, especially since the faces of the officers at the various consoles all seemed to have a trace of fear on them. 

As Derek was being placed in his big chair and propped upright, one of the officers spoke. 

"Sir," she said, "we've disengaged from the station but there are six small fighters..." 

Her sentence was cut off as the ship shook from an impact, probably from one of those small fighters. The ship shook again, a faint tremble in the decking. Alert lights flashed, but there were no warning alarms here on the bridge because they didn't need to be told how screwed they all were. 

"Station cannons are firing at us, sir," the officer said. 

"Focus on shields," Derek said. "We can't shoot enough of the enemy down to make a difference, so put the energy into defence measures. We have to run. We need to jump to hyperspace." 

Terrified eyes fixed on Derek. It was Stiles who said what they were probably all thinking. 

"This close to a large planetary mass? With a powered station so near? And all these small craft and satellites and clutter?" 

It was impossible. It would tear the ship to pieces. It would turn them inside out from the conflicting forces. Hyperspace jumps required clear, open space, where the only gravitational forces could be detected and calculated in minuscule detail. A stray chunk of rock could throw off the calculations and warp the entry point. A jump close to a gas giant would be bad enough, but at least then the gravity was predictable, but with all these ships moving about them, each with their own small mass influencing the spacetime around them, it was suicide. 

Now that Stiles had expressed this sentiment, the guy in the pilot's chair spoke up, not taking his eyes off the controls as he manoeuvred the ship. "The calculations to make a successful jump would be virtually impossible and I can't input the parameters while avoiding enemy craft, sir." 

Lydia moved to his console. "Leave the calculations to me." 

Her tone didn't allow for argument. She went to the pilot's console and started tapping away at buttons, even while the pilot manipulated other controls. A representation of the local space, with their ship weaving and darting in the centre of it, was projected up above the console. Numbers and colours were layered over the images of ships and defence barriers. Stiles got the feeling that red was a bad colour for these calculations, with the station and planet glowing vibrantly. There was an awful lot of red on that projection. 

"We need the cleanest patch of space," Lydia said. "Try and get us here." She touched a point between automated laser platforms that was slightly less deep red than everything else around. Then she turned to one of the others, saying, "Try to keep those fighters from following too close." 

"What do you think I'm doing, ma'am," the guy muttered, his face a mask of tension, as he fingers darted over firing controls and countermeasures. Lydia didn't bother replying but plugged her computer into the pilot's console, frowning at whatever she saw and inputting numbers as fast as her fingers could move. 

Everyone on this bridge seemed frantically busy and Stiles once again felt useless. He wasn't sure why he'd followed Derek up here. It wasn't like he thought he could magically make the fighters or defence canons or laser platforms disappear just because he was here to witness the fight. He should have stayed below, or gone to medical with the others because now he thought of it, his side really was hurting where Cora's knife had caught him. He wondered if he should just leave. It wasn't like anyone here would notice if he went. They were all too busy with their actually jobs. 

Almost as soon as Stiles made up his mind to leave, Derek said, "Stiles." 

Stiles hurried closer, glad to have an opportunity to do something useful. 

"Yes?" 

"Put my hand on the comms. I'll need you to operate the controls for me." Stiles moved Derek's hand onto the controls, the small panel on the chair's arm lighting up to the overlord's authorised touch. Stiles pressed Derek's fingers down on the right switches to open a communications channel to all the ships and the base's comms officers. Everyone would hear what Derek was about to say. 

"General Deucalion has committed an act of treason," Derek said. "He has attempted to start a coup. He has paid the price for his actions. Any who stand with him will pay dearly too. But if you cease firing, if you refrain from this illegal attack, you may receive mercy. If you choose now to stand with me, to defend my ship against these traitors, I will see to it personally that you are rewarded." 

Stiles cut the comms there. He didn't expect this to work any better than Derek's attempt to talk them out of the fight on the station, but it was worth a try and they had to do something while everyone else was trying to figure out how to make them jump to hyperspace without the ship being torn apart by gravitational forces. At least if they did somehow manage to make the jump from here, there was a good chance no one would bother trying to follow them because they probably wouldn't believe any ship could survive it, even the overlord's top of the line and perfectly maintained warship. Although, if they did make it, the lack of debris at this end of the jump might give the truth away. 

"Oh," Stiles said, as a thought occurred. 

"What?" asked Derek. 

"We need wreckage." When Derek just looked confused, Stiles continued. "Chances are, this ship will be torn to pieces by this jump attempt, but if by some miracle it succeeds, it's in our interest to make it look like we've been torn to pieces, so no one chases after us. We should dump some spare parts or something so it looks like we're all dead." 

"Internal comms," Derek said, and once again Stiles moved Derek's hand over the necessary controls to open the internal comms so that he could give the orders. He told them to fill one of the large cargo holds, one with an external airlock, with spare parts, raw materials, tools, and any personal artifacts that could be spared. He told the cargo workers to rig the airlock to release the instant the jump initiated. He even sent a comm to medical to supply organic matter, which Stiles hadn't considered. They wouldn't be able to produce actual bodies, but they might have enough supplies to fool materials scanners, and it could give the impression that they'd been torn apart to their component molecules. Which was still a possibility. 

All the while the ship lurched and shook, explosions and weapons impacts vibrating through the whole of the warship, while the artificial gravity couldn't keep up with the changes of momentum caused by the pilot's rapid weaving and dodging through the enemy fighters and the rapidly growing collection of debris. 

"Hull breach on deck three," someone called. "Decompression fields holding." 

Stiles couldn't help worrying that they might get torn apart before they even attempted the jump. It felt like hours had passed since they'd come to the bridge, each second expanding to fill a vacuum of terror. He thought he might throw up, though whether it was from the lurching motion of the ship or from his fear, he wasn't sure. 

Then Lydia announced, "The calculations are in. Do it now before things move too much." 

The pilot didn't wait for Derek's order. He spoke into the ship-wide comms, "All hands, brace for emergency jump." 

He pressed a control and Stiles felt a sensation like his body trying to turn itself inside out.


	40. Interlude 4

Noah was bored. He was beginning to understand how Stiles felt, experiencing frustration building inside him, the need to be active, to do something, growing like at itch under his skin. He had given himself over to Hale expecting torture and death, and hadn't prepared himself for the solitude and long hours alone with only his thoughts. He attempted to exercise in the confined space, but that didn't stop his mind wandering to Stiles, full of worry for what his son might be going through. He sat on the hard bench, with nothing to occupy his mind but those same worries. And when he lay down to sleep, those worries played out behind his closed eyes like nightmares before he even managed to fall asleep. 

He had nothing to do except think, so he thought about Stiles and the way he talked about Hale, the way he seemed to somehow believe Hale was sincere. He thought about Hale and his ridiculous suggestions that Noah work with him to stop another group of rebels, or that he somehow take charge of money snuck from government funds and use it to improve the lives of the unfortunate. That idea made so little sense that he couldn't wrap his head around it. It was clearly some sort of trick or trap that he couldn't figure out how it fit, how it could help Hale’s schemes. 

Did Hale think he could buy Noah in this manner? Or did he think he could convince Noah that he was trying to improve things, as a way of distracting him from the rebellion? Should Noah accept the offer anyway, because he could do good with that money and funnel some into the rebellion at the same time? Of course, if Noah funnelled a lot of money, Hale would know and cut off the funds, but Noah could pretend to go along with it and keep the levels of syphoned funds low. Or was he a traitor to the rebellion for even thinking of striking such a deal with Hale? 

His thoughts ran in circles until he couldn't be sure of his own mind anymore. 

He was still locked in a cycle of questions with no answers when he felt the first lurch of the ship, a change in momentum strong enough that even this ship's powerful artificial gravity couldn't counter it. Another lurch followed, and then a faint vibration that ran through the deck and the bench on which Noah sat. 

The ship was under attack. The feeling was different on a ship like this, state of the art and with the best defences, but there could be no doubt about the way an explosion on the hull made the entire ship vibrate with the energy that there was no atmosphere to absorb or dampen. 

A moment later, and alarm blared and a voice rang out, "All hands, combat stations. All hands, combat stations." 

Who would dare attack the overlord's ship? His rebels? Noah had looked into the possibility when Stiles was taken, but he'd seen the specs. It would take half an army to take on a ship like this with any hope of success. With their old equipment, they wouldn't have stood a chance even if they'd deployed every ship they had. 

But someone clearly thought the odds were worth the risk. The ship vibrated again. Noah wondered how close he was to the hull to feel the impact damage so strongly. The ship lurched again, and then kept lurching, momentum shifting every moment. One moment, Noah felt his stomach leap as the effect of artificial gravity was dimmed, and the next he was pressed into the bench as the ship reversed direction. 

Where was Stiles? Was he in danger? 

Noah hated not knowing, hated not being able to do anything. He wished he could run out of here and find his son, make sure he was safe, but he was trapped behind security barriers as the ship tumbled as though the pilot were having some sort of fit and impact vibrations rang through the deck and up through his feet. 

He didn't know how long it lasted. It felt like forever. A major fleet had to be out there, pouring all their weaponry against the overlord's ship. Had his forces joined up with the Argents or others? Were whole systems in rebellion and mobilising their forces? Noah could never have imagined waging a battle that would have this much of an effect on the most protected ship in the fleet. 

Another warning alarm sounded. "All hands, brace for emergency jump." 

Noah barely had time to wonder what sort of lunatic would attempt a hyperspace jump in the middle of combat when he felt the jump start and the conflicting forces made it feel like his whole body was being twisted into a knot, squeezed and stretched in all directions at once. That was when he passed out.


	41. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I was going to stop with the cliffhangers any time soon, did you?

Derek must have passed out. When he came to, he was aware that he had fallen sideways in his chair and was dangling over the arm of it. He couldn't see the bridge easily from this position, but he could hear the sound of someone vomiting nearby. He also heard Lydia say, "We're alive," with such surprise in her voice that Derek resolved never to ask her what she'd calculated as their odds of making it through in one piece. If they were in one piece. 

"Damage report," he said, trying to sit up and not managing so much as a twitch. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one rousing from the unconsciousness caused by such a messy hyperspace jump, because Stiles was at his side a moment later, pushing him upright. Stiles looked awful, his skin had a faintly greenish tinge under the layers of dirt from the earlier fight. He had a hand pressed to one side and there was blood seeping through his fingers. Derek remembered the cry of pain he'd heard back when they'd been fighting Deucalion and he felt a surge of guilt that he hadn't noticed earlier that Stiles was injured. Had the wound reopened in the jump? Had it never actually closed? It was possible that the shade of Stiles' skin was as much to do with bloodloss as the uncomfortable sensation of the jump. 

Around the bridge, his officers were regaining their senses and checking on their stations. 

"The primary and secondary jump stabilisers have blown," the pilot announced. "The other two are both showing damage." 

Derek silently thanked Peter for the ridiculous over-precaution of having the ship fitted with a fourth jump stabiliser, when most ships didn't even bother with more than the one backup. That extra stabiliser was probably the main reason they were alive right now, no matter how good Lydia's calculations. 

"We have hull breaches in three places," his engineering officer said. "Two are being handled by the compression barriers, but the barrier failed on deck twelve. Emergency airlocks have sealed off the effected area." 

If the barriers had failed, then anyone in that area would have been exposed to the vacuum. Derek wouldn't get a casualty list for some time, but it was too much to hope that the affected area of the ship had been deserted when the hull breach happened. 

But the engineering officer wasn't finished. "We have buckling in the bracketing infrastructure around the hyperspace engines, a water tank ruptured and has flood storage hold three, and there are reports of support damage in twelve, no seventeen different places. Eighteen different places." 

Derek cut him off before that count could get higher. He suspected they would be finding more damage for weeks, but they had to focus on the more critical issues. Like the fact that the engine housing wouldn't hold another jump and Stiles had been bleeding for far too long without anyone seeing to it. 

"Get a medic up to the bridge," Derek ordered, "and have repair teams focus on the jump stabilisers and engine bracketing. Patch it together for now. Get us into a state where we can make another jump without the ship falling to pieces around us and take us somewhere remote where we can work on doing real repairs with less risk of Deucalion's forces following us." 

"I really doubt our jump vector was clean enough for anyone to predict our path," Lydia said. "As it is, we're about five lightyears away from where I intended us to go." 

"Noted." Derek still didn't want to risk staying in one place. "Have repair teams work until they're confident the engines will hold through a second jump." 

"Yes, sir," someone answered. Someone else had already made the call for a medic, and soon the elevator was opening and Melissa McCall came onto the deck. She started towards Derek. 

"Tend Stiles first," Derek ordered. He'd lasted this long being paralysed; he could last a little longer. It wasn't like he was in any pain, however irritating the situation might be. 

McCall gave Stiles a quick once-over, her eyes falling on the gash in his side. Then she looked at her son, who was still on the bridge, looking utterly confused about what he was meant to be doing there. McCall opened her medical case and handed something to Scott. 

"Scott has some medical training and can clean a cut as well as anyone," she said. "He can tend to Stiles. He doesn't have any experience with paralytic toxins though." 

Derek decided not to argue. As long as someone was looking after Stiles, it would be alright. He sat there and waited as McCall pressed a device to his arm. 

"This might sting a bit," she warned. "I need a sample to identify the drug used." 

Despite her warning, Derek didn't feel a thing as the device pierced his skin and extracted the blood sample. 

"I brought with me antidotes to the most common drugs," she said, while her machine whirred. "If something was tailor-made, I might have to synthesise a specific antidote. That could take some time." Especially given that there were probably a lot of people crowding medical right now, seeking treatment for physical trauma or jump sickness. 

"Ah," McCall said, a moment later. slightly more cheerful. "I have the antidote. This may take a few minutes to kick in and I would recommend resting for twenty four hours to give your body time to recover." 

Derek knew he didn't have the luxury of a day to rest. If Deucalion was alive, he would want to kill Derek and cement his coup before he lost control of the situation. If Deucalion was dead, Kali or one of his other followers would probably try to do exactly the same thing. Still, Derek didn't argue with McCall as she pressed an injector to Derek's side and shot something into his body. 

"Thank you," Derek said. 

"Just doing my job." She put away the injector and then turned to Stiles. Scott was just finishing applying something to Stiles' side, a line of white covering over an area of skin about the length of Derek's hand that ran under Stiles' ribs. 

"The wound wasn't deep," Scott said. "I've cleaned it and applied a layer of synthskin to hold the wound closed while it heals." The synthskin would also provide numbing so that Stiles wouldn't feel too much pain from his injury. 

"Any other injuries?" Derek asked Stiles. 

"A few bruises and I might have strained a muscle hauling your ass around, but I'll live." 

"See to the crew," Derek ordered McCall. She started on the bridge, checking each of the officers present in case of injuries. Derek left her to it. He had other things to think about. Right now, Deucalion or one of his followers was probably hunting for them. Even if they couldn't follow the ship's course directly, they would have some sort of plan for finding Derek. The first priority was to repair the ship so that they could withstand another attack if Deucalion's forces found them. Those orders had been given and Derek wouldn't add much help trying to get involved personally in the repairs. He'd probably slow down the experts who knew the engines better than he did. 

He had to focus on what to do next. His normal approach to an attack was to contact Deucalion and either ask his advice or tell him to deal with the problem. That obviously wasn't an option here. He needed to come up with a strategy for how to deal with this attempted coup, and he had very few people he could turn to for advice, but he knew he had to act quickly. If Kali or someone acted more quickly, they could take advantage of any delay he made to cement control of the military. That way, Derek would be left with one ship while the enemy had almost the entirety of his army. And that was making the assumption that the crew of this ship wouldn't decide they were better off turning on him too, offering him up in exchange for mercy. 

He needed to show that he was in control. He needed to strike back, to punish Deucalion, if he'd survived, along with anyone else who had been loyal to him. For all the faults of Peter's lessons, he'd been right about one thing: a leader had to appear strong. If Derek was seen as vulnerable, all the people who had been working with him up until yesterday would flock to someone they thought more likely to win this power struggle, someone more likely to give them whatever rewards they sought in exchange for loyalty. 

He knew he had to attack the Coriolis base again, but he wouldn't survive an assault in a ship like this, half falling apart from the forced hyperspace jump, not going up against all the forces Deucalion's people could muster. He needed allies, but how could he be sure of anyone in his military? He had no way to judge who would be loyal to him, and who would side with Deucalion's people. He needed an ally he could be sure wasn't working with Deucalion. 

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, realising only after he did so that this meant the paralytic had be wearing off. 

"I am holding a meeting in the main conference room," Derek announced. "Lydia, call down to medical and see if Boyd is in a strong enough condition to attend. If the medics say he's not, don't tell him the meeting is happening. Then go to the cells and fetch Stiles' father." 

"My dad?" Stiles asked. 

"Stiles, help me up. You're part of this meeting too." 

Derek was already able to lift his arm so that Stiles could put it over his shoulders, helping him to stand. His legs felt weak and shaky beneath him, but at least they were responding to his commands now. Lydia had already gone by the time Derek was standing and he started to make his careful way across the bridge, Scott beside him on the other side, looking awkward and uncertain. Derek supposed it would be quicker if he leaned on Scott too, but right now he had his arm around Stiles, his warmth pressed up against his side, and the thought of sharing that with Scott seemed like a sacrilege. 

Each step brought new strength to his legs and by the time they reached the elevator, he felt like he might even be able to stand on his own. 

That was when Stiles collapsed under him. He went from supporting Derek's weight to crumpled on the floor in an instant, leaving Derek scrabbling at the wall to keep from falling on top of him. 

"Mom!" Scott yelled, ignoring Derek to crouch beside Stiles. He looked pale still, that greenish tint still on his skin, but now with an added sheen of cold sweat. Derek wanted to kneel beside him, to touch that face, to check he was breathing, but he knew that if he knelt he might not stand again. Besides, Melissa McCall was there, crouching at Stiles' side, already reaching for one of the devices from the med kit. Derek clung to the wall to stay upright and watched her work. 

Derek didn't understand how this had happened. Stiles had seemed fine a moment ago. Yes, there had been blood on his shirt, but he had been talking, and they'd said it was only a shallow cut. 

"There must have been something on the knife," Scott said, guilt and fear written on his face. "I didn't check. I should have checked." 

Derek wanted to scream at him that he should have. He wanted to scream at McCall for letting her half-trained son deal with Stiles instead of doing it herself the way he'd ordered her too. But right now she was busy testing Stiles' blood and yelling at her would just slow her down. He needed her to work fast. He needed her to save Stiles' life. 

She swore under her breath. 

"What is it?" Derek demanded. 

"It's mercy trap," she answered. "We need to get him to medical. He needs his system completely flushed, a complete blood transfusion." She injected him with something. "This might slow it enough for us to get him down there." 

Then she and Scott were lifting Stiles, not waiting for orders. They bundled him onto the stretcher that had been used to carry Derek up here earlier, and carried him into the elevator. Derek was right behind them, managing to stay upright because he didn't have the option of collapsing now. 

"What's mercy trap?" he demanded as they waited for the elevator to carry them to the right deck for medical. 

"That's the slang term for it, it's a toxin that by itself is very slow acting. A person could have it in their system for months before noticing any ill-effects, but when it's exposed to an active ingredient that's in most of the common pain-killers, including the anaesthetic built into synthskin, that acts as a catalyst. The damage becomes very fast." 

Derek understood the name now. A person could be poisoned with this without even noticing, kept as a prisoner and tortured without realising what was in their system. Until someone showed them mercy and gave them something for the pain. A rescuer could kill the person they were trying to help. It was utterly evil and now Stiles was suffering from its poison. 

"What do we need to do?" he asked. 

"Blood transfusion," McCall said. "As quickly and as thoroughly as possible. We can't just drain him completely and then put blood back in, that would kill him, so we have to replace his blood with the clean supply as we're taking out the old. This means we need a lot of blood, and it can't all be synth blood. We need some genuine blood in the mix." 

"Can you use mine?" Derek asked. 

"Yours?" she seemed startled. 

"Is the paralytic going to be a problem?" 

"No. We can use yours. Any blood from someone that's the same type." 

Derek had no idea who on this ship would be Stiles' type, but there had to be enough. And the was someone who stood a better than fifty percent chance of being the same type as Stiles. Derek reached for his comms, fingers now having the delicacy to operate the controls, and called for Lydia. 

"Change of plans. Bring Stilinski to medical. Stiles needs his help." 

Derek just hoped it would be enough, and fast enough, because as the elevator arrived on the right deck, Stiles looked worse than ever. Derek really wasn't sure he was even breathing.


	42. Interlude 5

Noah woke on the floor of his cell, his head throbbing and his stomach churning. He wondered if he hit his head on the bench when they went to jump. He'd presumably passed out at the jump transfer. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone through a hyperspace jump that bad. He'd flown on ships that were close to falling apart, without a backup jump stabiliser, and that hadn't made him feel the impact in his whole body that strongly. He could count on one hand the number of jumps that had been messy enough to make him lose consciousness. 

He wondered how long he'd been out. His body wasn't too stiff, so he didn't think it had been that long. He pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling his stomach lurch in complaint, and waited like that for it to settle until he was ready to move back onto the bench. 

He wished he knew what had happened. How bad had that fight been that someone had risked a jump like that? Noah couldn't help wondering if whoever had been the cause of all that had been someone he would consider an ally. What had happened to them? 

He waited for his head to stop spinning and was still waiting when the door to the cell opened. A young woman walked in, wearing an expensive-looking dress instead of a uniform. Noah wasn't sure what to make of her. She didn't look like she belonged in a place like this. The two soldiers flanking her, on the other hand, were ones Noah had seen before standing guard outside his cell. 

"Against the back wall," one ordered, the command Noah had learned meant someone was going to open the barriers that kept him trapped. Noah had no intention of arguing against something that might grant him a tiny bit more freedom, so he stayed quiet and obedient as they opened the barriers and the two guards approached to lock security cuffs around his wrists. So he was being taken somewhere. He doubted it would be another trip to the gym so soon after a battle and an emergency jump, which meant this probably didn't bode well for him. 

"What's this about?" Noah asked, as he was led from the cell. He half-expected one of the guards to order him to be quiet. 

"Derek wants to see you," the woman answered. The fact that she referred to the overlord by his first name said a lot about her rank here, whether she was in uniform or not. Her answer didn't clarify things much and Noah was wondering whether asking more questions would be worth the risk, when her comms buzzed. She brought it up to her face and didn't even get a greeting out when Hale's voice spoke. 

"Change of plans. Bring Stilinski to medical. Stiles needs his help." 

Those words filled Noah with pure terror. 

"What's happened to Stiles?" 

"He seemed fine a few minutes ago," the woman answered. "A little battered and a bit shaken by the jump, but the medic said the cut wasn't serious and he was still well enough to argue with Derek like usual." 

She didn't seem to think that arguing with Hale might have been the cause of Stiles' apparent hurt, so Noah focused on the rest of what she'd said. 

"What cut?" 

"Let's get to medical and I'm sure you'll get better answers there." 

They reached an elevator. The guards accompanied them inside and the woman activated the controls. The ride seemed to take far too long. All Noah could think about was that Stiles was no much trouble that he'd been taken to medical, so much trouble that Noah would be taken from his cell to see him. Something major must have happened and he couldn't imagine any way this would be good. 

It was clear Stiles wasn't the only one hurt, judging by the chaos in medical. People were crammed inside, the medics assessing patients and deciding whether they needed instant care or if they could wait. It seemed a lot of people could wait, those with bruises and scrapes. But there, in the middle of the large room, was Stiles, utterly motionless on a bed, with tubes connected to his mouth and chest. Noah almost forgot about the guards, hurrying over to Stiles' side. He looked so pale, eyes closed, chest barely moving. Noah didn't know what the numbers on the screen above the bed represented, but he only had to look at Stiles to know that he was in a bad way. 

"What happened to him?" Noah asked. 

"He was poisoned," someone said, and Noah looked up from the bed, noticing who was sitting beside it for the first time. Derek Hale was sitting at Stiles' bedside, a donor cuff around his upper arm, the tube of it connecting into the various devices that were strapped to Stiles. 

A woman in medic's uniform appeared at Noah's side. 

"Do you I have your permission to do a blood transfusion?" she asked. 

"Yes," Noah said, without hesitation. The woman didn't hesitate either, jabbing Noah's arm with something that stung sharply the instant the word had passed his lips. She reviewed the device. 

"You're a match," she announced. "Sit down." She pushed him towards a chair and then looked at the guards who had brought Noah here from the cell. "Take these cuffs off him and then clear out. We need the room." 

Hale nodded and the guards obeyed. The instant Noah's arms were unrestrained, the medic claimed one of them, wrapping a donor cuff around it and starting the process to extract his blood. 

"Don't you have synth you could use?" Noah asked. 

"We need to do a complete transfusion," the medic said. "It's not safe to do that with entirely synth, but with two donors, the mix should be enough." 

"A complete transfusion? What the hell was he poisoned with?" 

But the medic had already hurried off to another machine, too busy working to answer his questions, so it was Hale who answered. 

"She called it mercy trap," he said. 

Noah swore. He'd seen mercy trap used only a handful of times, when their people had been taken prisoner and their attempts at rescue had ended only in grief. He'd guessed the poison was used to discourage the rebels from trying to rescue their compatriots when they were captured by the empire's forces, and it certainly was discouraging. Noah looked at Stiles, so pale on the bed, and felt like he'd lost him already. 

In all the times Noah had seen or heard of mercy trap used, he'd never known anyone to survive it.


	43. Chapter 38

Derek wished he knew more about medical equipment, wished he knew whether the numbers displayed on the screen above Stiles' bed were moving in the right direction or the wrong one. He sat there, his blood being extracted and cleaned and pumped into Stiles along with the synth blood and Stilinski's contribution. All the while, Stiles was being drained, his blood removed completely so that no trace of the poison lingered in his veins. But what about the poison that had been absorbed into other cells? Was it already in Stiles' vital organs? 

Derek didn't know enough about this poison, about how it worked, to guess at what it was doing to Stiles' insides. He'd never even heard the name before today. But Stilinski had heard of it. He'd recognised it enough to be horrified when Derek had told him the name. Had he seen it used before? 

There was no other explanation, but the thought made Derek feel physically sick. This poison was pure evil. What sort of person would poison someone else with something that wouldn't kill them until they received medical treatment? It felt like the worst sort of cruelty, so let someone think they'd reached safety, only to have them killed by the very people who were trying to help them. But it was clearly something that the military had used before against the rebels. And this was something Deucalion was willing to use on Stiles, that he'd clearly intended to use on Derek, because the knife that had cut Stiles had been held to Derek's throat. 

Stiles had only ended up in this bed because he'd taken the risk to fight Cora, to get the knife away from Derek. 

In the back of his mind, Derek knew that there were problems he needed to deal with, strategies he needed to devise, but it was hard to think about any of that while Stiles was lying here, hurt because of him. Derek reached out and lay his hand across Stiles', feeling the slender fingers below his. The skin was cool but not cold. There was still life in Stiles yet. Derek wanted to wrap that hand in his own and let some of his warmth pass over, as though he could suck the poison out of Stiles with such his touch. 

He became aware of Stilinski staring at his hand on Stiles' but he couldn't bring himself to withdraw it. 

"Stiles saved my life today," Derek said. He wondered what Stilinski thought of that, whether he would be upset with his son for being a hero. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. 

"The knife was meant for me," Derek continued. "One of my generals attempted a coup." He decided not to mention quite yet that it was his most senior military leader who'd done so. "In the fight, Stiles tried to get a knife away from someone who was threatening to kill me. He got a shallow cut, nothing we thought was serious. Until it was." 

"And now you're giving your blood to try and balance things out?" Stilinski asked. 

"I'm giving my blood because I don't want Stiles to die." That was such an understatement Derek wasn't sure how he managed to get the words out. His throat seemed to close up around the mere suggestion of the possibility that Stiles might not make it through this. He couldn't imagine not seeing Stiles again, not talking to him, not getting his advice or listening to him argue on some point that mattered enormously to him. He didn't want to go to the library and not see Stiles there, talking about something he'd read, arms flying in every direction in his excitement to share whatever interesting thing he'd just learned. There was so much he hadn't done with Stiles, so much of the galaxy he hadn't shown him, so many opportunities and chances he hadn't given him. 

Stiles had too much promise, too much brilliance, to just be cut short like this. 

But he couldn't think about that now, because then he'd break down. He had too much to do, too much to think about right now. He couldn't afford to just curl into a ball and start crying the way he felt like doing. 

Maybe it was cruel and callous, but he'd originally summoned Stilinski because he needed to talk to him about the attempted coup, and about whether or not the rebels would be a part of the fight against Deucalion's forces. Derek still didn't have very long and the people he needed to talk to were all here, even if he couldn't ask Stiles the questions he'd intended to. He couldn't ask Stiles if he research into corruption in the military had identified any who were unlikely to be corrupt, any captains or commanders he thought would be worth the risk of approaching directly so that he wouldn't be facing this threat on a single ship. There were so many things he wanted Stiles' help on and he couldn't ask any of them, but he could ask Stilinski. 

"I inherited an empire that's full of corruption," Derek said. "The military kill civilians, those who speak out are unfairly punished, and people in positions of power use that to hurt others for their own benefit." He didn't think Stilinski would disagree with any of that. "I'm trying to make things better. I arranged a meeting with one of my generals about the corruption in the military, so that we could talk about how to improve things. His response was to attempt to steal my throne and put a puppet on it. Stiles risked his life to get me back to my ship. He saved me." 

"He saved all of us," said Boyd, stepping up from behind him and approaching the bed. Boyd had been checked carefully for any sign of the poison that had been used on Stiles, but it seemed only Cora's weapon was laced with it because the medics had been able to clean and close up his wounds without him collapsing. He stood by the bed now, his shirt removed, showing the lines of synthskin across his torso where he'd been hurt in the fight. The synthskin the medic had used was a shade paler than his natural skin tone, so it stood out, making it clear how extensive his injuries had been. 

But he stood there now, looking down at Stiles with sadness and concern on his face. 

"He had a breather mask," Boyd said. "They tried to gas us and Stiles was there with this breather mask and he could have tried to keep it for himself, but he shared it between four of us. Right now, we'd be dead or prisoners if Stiles hadn't chosen to help us." 

Derek hadn't realised that. He'd heard Stiles taking about the trio sharing their masks with him when he'd been trying to trick Deucalion, and Derek hadn't guessed that the truth was exactly the reverse. He should have guessed because breather masks weren't standard equipment and it was exactly the sort of thing Stiles would do. 

Derek looked across the bed and did something Peter would never have approved of: he admitted a major weakness to an enemy. 

"I don't know who in my military I can trust right now," he said. "I need to demonstrate strength. If it takes too long, these people in my military will take control of everything. I know you hate me. I know why you hate me. But a galaxy controlled by these people is going to be worse by far." 

Stilinski dragged his eyes up from Stiles' face. 

"Are you trying to get me to help you fight your own military?" 

"Yes." 

Stilinski stared at him for a moment, disbelief written all over his face, and then looked down once again to Stiles, motionless and pale on the medical bed. 

"I know that it's cruel to ask you about this right now," Derek said, "when all you can probably think about is Stiles. I _know_. But if I wait too long, the military commanders will cement their power, they'll get the army completely under their control instead of just mostly under their control, and it will mean that the I'll never stand a chance of fighting back. I know you don't care about my position, and that you'd probably be happier without me on the throne, but a military dictatorship is not going to be any better, especially when it's run by the sort of people who are trying to maintain the corruption of the system. The sort of people that would use a weapon like this." 

Derek stopped talking. He waited for Stilinski to say something. 

"Everything you say could be a lie," Stilinski said at last. "You say that Stiles saved your life, but he's not awake to corroborate your story. You say you're trying to stop corruption, but that could be a lie. Someone attacked you, fine, I'll believe that, because I felt the hyperspace jump and..." He waved a hand around at the medical staff still fixing up the injuries of those who had been hurt in the battle. "But how do I know that that it was one of your generals, or that whoever it was would be worse than you as overlord. You could be trying to trick me into fighting someone who would put a stop to your tyranny. You could have poisoned Stiles yourself to make me think you're trying to save him." 

Derek had known that convincing Stilinski would be difficult, but he hadn't expected that accusation. The idea of what had been done to Stile was so horrifying to him that the possibility he could have done it himself had never even entered his mind. 

"I wouldn't do this to Stiles," Derek said, because he could think of no other argument, no other way to get that point across. For the second time in this conversation, he broke one of Peter's rules and gave away a major weakness. "Stiles is important to me. I care about him." 

Stilinski looked at him. He looked down at the bed, at the hand Derek had covering Stiles'. Derek felt an urge to snatch his hand away, as though so simple a gesture was tainted because Stilinski thought it might be an act. But he didn't want to stop touching Stiles. Some irrational part of him felt that point of contact like a connection between them, a thin thread linking them and helping Stiles hold on to life. His rational mind knew that was nonsense, but it was hard to be rational right now, while Stiles was so close to death. 

"What do you want from me?" Stilinski asked. 

Derek hadn't planned that far ahead. He'd intended to have this meeting in the conference room, with Stiles ready to jump in with ideas and arguments, ready to take his side and convince his father to help, or offer insights from his research. Now Derek needed to have a plan and he couldn't ask Stiles for help. All he knew was that this was critical. 

"I need to launch a counter-attack against the people who attempted to coup," he said. "I need to put them down hard, before this turns into something drawn-out and chaotic." The longer the leadership of the empire was uncertain, the more chance there was that other groups would side with Deucalion's people, or decide to take action of their own. More people could flock to the rebels, sensing his weakness. Whole systems could go into revolt and declare independence from the empire. This one act of uprising could turn into a civil war that could destroy lives from one side of the galaxy to the other. 

He needed a clean, quick victory, and to get that victory, he needed forces on his side. 

Derek looked at Stilinski. "I want to send you back to your rebels and I want you to commit them to an attack against Coriolis Base." 

"Coriolis?" Stilinski asked. "You want me to bring my entire fleet into battle against one of your largest strongholds? And you expect me to believe that this isn't a trap?" 

Derek could understand Stilinski's scepticism. If Derek still controlled Coriolis, then luring the rebel fleet there would be the perfect opportunity to wipe them out in one go. 

Derek had never been good with words, not like Peter. He wasn't good at swaying people to his side with a few carefully chosen comments. He managed it sometimes, in meetings where he had time to prepare, or where he had the information and the opportunity to lay out careful arguments. Right now, he felt like he had nothing. 

"I don't know how to convince you this is the truth," Derek said, because honesty was all he had. He needed Stiles more than ever, needed him to speak on his behalf to his father. But Stiles was still lying there, eyes closed. 

Derek thought about giving up. Deucalion's people probably thought he was dead. He could take this ship and find a quiet moon somewhere or some planet out on the edge of civilisation. With these people and the equipment on this ship, they could probably survive alright, and he could make sure that the people he cared about were safe. He could protect Lydia and Danny, his security team, and of course Stiles, assuming he made it through this poisoning. They could live out their lives peacefully, away from the politics and war. It could be quite pleasant. 

But Derek knew that Stiles would never accept a life like that. He argued. He fought back. He would think about all the people out there, living in the wider galaxy, and he would care about helping them because that was the sort of person he was. Derek knew he would be drawn back into the fight, so it was better not to leave it, no matter how much the fantasy of that quiet life appealed to him right now. 

Deucalion or whoever took over from him would be a monster. All the problems Derek was trying to fix would remain or get worse. The only choice he really had was to fight back because otherwise he would never have a chance to try and make things better. 

But he wasn't sure how to put that into words to explain it to Stilinski. He wasn't sure Stilinski would even believe him if he tried. Stilinski had thought him a monster for too long. But Derek had to try, because winning this fight was something that Stiles would want and right now that was more important than almost anything. With Stiles' fate uncertain, Derek was going to do things as he thought Stiles would want them done. He thought back over every argument with Stiles, every insult Stiles had thrown at him, every petty remark, and at all of the things Derek had read about in trying to understand why Stiles saw him the way he did. He'd been thinking about this for a long time now, since those early conversations with Stiles, and now it was finally time to say it aloud. 

"I know my family have done terrible things," Derek said. "I know that some of my ancestors committed acts of awful violence against innocents to convince the leaders of various planets to surrender and become part of the empire. I know that the institutions that have developed over the generations are full of corruption and exploitation, and that the whole framework of the economy is built on the backs of the poor and suffering. I know that the military kill innocent civilians and then get away with it by claiming that those people were rebels, or acting suspiciously, so that the soldiers who commit murder never have to face the consequences. I know that these problems are founded on things set in motion centuries ago, but I also know that I can't blame all the problems in the galaxy on my uncle, or my parents, or grandparents, or anyone else long dead. Just because someone else caused a situation years ago, it doesn't make it right that I benefited from it and allowed it to continue.”

He could have easily hidden behind the excuse that his ancestors were the ones who had caused the problems facing the galaxy, but Stiles wouldn’t have found that acceptable, so Derek couldn’t either. So he continued talking, saying the things he hoped Stiles would want him to say. 

“I know I have to take ownership of dealing with the situation I find myself in, and that includes addressing the imbalances and injustices that have benefited me and caused so many others to suffer. More than that, I know that I personally have done things that were unjust, like kidnapping a teenage boy to use as leverage, or threatening torture against someone who hadn't committed any crime. I know that I have to make amends for that, and that I have to use the power and authority I have to try and make the galaxy a better place. But trying to fix these issues, trying to make things right, is what's caused this current mess. I wanted to improve the situation in my military, to stop the pointless deaths and get rid of the corruption, but the leader of my military decided to get rid of me instead. I can't fix all the problems of this galaxy alone." 

He looked Stilinski in the eye. "I'm asking for your help."


	44. Chapter 39

Stiles drifted slowly to consciousness, aware of voices nearby, of beeping and shuffling feet, and the general noise of lots of people moving around and doing stuff. For a while, he continued to drift, that vague awareness of stuff happening not enough to trigger any real thoughts or responses. 

He gradually became aware that he knew those voices. He heard his dad. He heard Derek. For a while he thought he was dreaming, because he didn't see how his dad and Derek could be calmly talking in real life, and he was content to continue doing so. But then the words started registering. He heard Derek talking about the problems in the galaxy, the historic ones and the ones that had lingered to do damage today. He heard Derek owning up to his part, to his responsibilities to fix all the systematic problems his family had allowed to develop, and even coming close to apologising for what he'd done to Stiles personally. 

Stiles listened to it all, half-convinced that he must still be dreaming. He couldn't imagine the Derek he'd first met ever saying something like that. It was definitely something he'd thought about for a while though, because no one would come up with a speech like that off the top of his head. 

"I really hope someone was recording that speech," Stiles muttered. "That was a good speech." 

"Stiles!" Two voices called out his name, a little louder than he would have liked, setting the throbbing inside his skull up another level. 

Stiles felt something tighten around his hand, fingers gripping his. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the too-bright light, and realised that it wasn't his dad holding his hand, but Derek. 

"Hey," he said. His voice sounded weak, even to him, but both his dad and Derek were beaming. Stiles still wasn't sure how they could both be here. This didn't look like any sort of cell and his dad wasn't currently trying to throttle Derek. Maybe he really was dreaming. No, his dreams didn't usually hurt like this. 

"Stiles, are you alright?" his dad asked. "How are you feeling?" 

That was a difficult question. Right now, Stiles felt strangely detached, like his body was something that was happening to someone else. He was aware of the bed, the warm fingers around his hand, and a deep ache through his limbs that seemed concentrated in the back of his skull, but it was hard to really feel that they applied to him. But those were stupid questions. He obviously wasn't alright if he was lying in a medical bed with Derek holding his hand and his dad looking so worried beside him. 

"M'neh," he said. That seemed to sum up his feelings nicely. His statement seemed to terrify Derek though, who probably thought he was losing the ability to form words, instead of just struggling to find the energy to put complicated feelings into a sentence to adequately explain them. 

"Medic," Derek called, and then moved back to allow Melissa McCall access. She came through the press of people who were filling this room and checked screens and peered into his eyes and asked him how he was feeling. Too many people were moving nearby and it was all too bright and distracting, but when he closed his eyes to shut it out, his dad started saying his name in a frightened manner again, so Stiles forced them back open again and tried to concentrate on Melissa's question. 

Stiles decided to find actual words this time to stop the worried looks. "Everything aches." 

"That's to be expected," she said. She started detaching some of the tubes, and then looked at Derek and Stiles' dad. "You can remove the donor cuffs now." 

That was when Stiles noticed the cuffs both of them were wearing around their upper arms, and the tubes coming out of them. They'd been giving blood for him. His dad, he could understand, but Derek too was hooked up to him, donating his blood. Despite the aching, Stiles smiled a little as Melissa got them unhooked. 

"I need to do a full body scan to check for organ damage," Melissa announced. She had the others back off so that she had room to set up the scanner over the bed. Stiles worried for a moment if the distance would get too much and trigger the security cuff. He didn't want to be electrocuted because he was too far away from Derek or one of the security trio. But as he raised his arm a little to draw attention to the cuff, he saw that it wasn't there. At some point while he'd been unconscious, someone had removed the cuff. 

He supposed it made sense. It wasn't like he was in a position to run away or cause any sort of trouble right now. Someone would put it back on when he was ready to get out of this bed. That might be a while, judging by the way Melissa was frowning at the readouts from the scan. 

"How bad is it?" Derek asked, moving closer again to see the screens Melissa was studying. She hmmed a little. 

"Not as bad as it could be. There's minimal swelling around the brain and spinal column, but I'm a little concerned about the kidney function." She injected Stiles with something. 

"Will that fix it?" Stiles' dad asked. 

"It will help. For now, the most important thing is rest, and it's critical he stays hydrated." She address the next part to Stiles directly. "I'm going to get you something to drink that will help replenish your fluids after the blood loss. I want you to take it easy. Bed rest for now, and we'll work you up to gentle exercise after a few days." 

She went to get the promised drink, and Stiles said to Derek, "I guess I won't be leading the charge against Deucalion head on." 

"Deucalion?" his dad asked Derek. "You said one of your generals had attempted a coup, but you didn't say it was Deucalion." 

"Perhaps you understand now why I wanted your help," Derek replied. 

"The commander of your entire military turned against you? You really must have been intending some serious changes to the military." 

"My forces are supposed to protect the innocent and keep the peace. If they're not doing that, if they're killing innocent people and getting away with it, then changes are necessary." 

He said it like it was obvious and Stiles felt a flush of pride because he knew he'd been a part of making Derek this certain about the need for reform. He was also pleased because his dad was looking at Derek like he might actually believe him. After all their recent conversations about how Derek might not be utterly evil after all, it was nice to see some of it finally sinking in. 

His dad turned to Stiles, "Hale said you saved his life." 

"Boyd, Erica, and Isaac did most of the actual saving. "

"But you saved us first," put in Boyd, from somewhere behind Derek. Stiles hadn't even noticed him in the chaos of people in the room. He'd blame the kidney failure and brain swelling for that. 

His dad heard this and waited, maybe seeing if Stiles was going to argue, before he gave a nod and turned back to Derek. "Do you actually have a plan for this fight? Or are you just going to attack Deucalion head on with my fleet and hope for the best?" 

"I need to get some more of my fleet on my side," Derek answered. "I can't win this fight with just your forces and it wouldn't look good if my ship was the only army one used. I need to contact military commanders who can be trusted to come to my side so that we can launch a joint attack against Coriolis. If I capture Coriolis, it will be easier to make the rest of the fleet fall back into line." He turned to Stiles. "In all your research on corruption in the military, did you come across any names of commanders who you're confident aren't corrupt? Any people you think will come to me if I call?" 

Stiles couldn't remember any names like that off the top of his head, because he'd been focusing on exactly the opposite. He'd been looking for the people who sucked and those who'd been demoted or punished unfairly. Those who'd seemed to treat their people fairly had quickly been pushed out of his mind while he focused on everyone else. But there had been people whose names weren't linked to any atrocities, who appeared, at least according to their records, to follow both the letter and spirit of the regulations. 

"I'd need my notes," he said. "I could come up with a list, but they probably won't be very senior or in particularly important posts. It's the scum that floats to the top." 

"It doesn't matter if they're senior. It matters that they're there and that they'll come when I call." 

Stiles nodded. "I'll get you some names." 

"No," his dad said. "You're supposed to be resting. Someone else can do this." 

"Going through computer files isn't going to damage my kidneys." 

"But the medic said that rest is most important." 

"I won't even sit up. Dad, please, this is important." That's when Stiles pulled out the guilt card. "I'm going to do it anyway, so you arguing with me is just going to add more strain and not accomplish anything." 

"Just... just take it easy. OK?" 

"OK," Stiles agreed. His dad reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. It felt like so long since they'd been able to have such easy physical contact. A brief visit to the cell wasn't enough, and now those fingers offering comfort with the familiar gesture were nearly enough to bring tears to Stiles' eyes. He'd been so afraid when his dad had surrender himself, and his dad had been so afraid for him, and yet here they were, together again. Stiles wished he could just enjoy this moment, but there was too much danger around, too much threat. They all knew it. 

Stiles' dad turned his attention back to Derek, "You say you're getting some of your fleet involved, but do you want us to have a joint offensive? Or would it be better to have two groups with different objectives?" 

"Different objectives makes sense," put in Lydia. Stiles hadn't noticed her there either, which was a sure sign that he wasn't operating at full capacity right now. "Your group have strategies and approaches that you're familiar with, and you know the capabilities of your ships better than we do. It would be better for you to have a goal in mind but manage the details of the actual attack yourself, while Derek focuses on the deployment strategies for his fleet." 

"So long as we don't get in each other's way," Stiles' dad said, nodding his agreement. "So what mission would you give me?" 

Derek looked to Lydia. It made sense, since she was the one always pouring over statistical analyses of battle reports. She probably knew the capabilities of the rebel fleet as well as anyone. 

"The outer defences," she said. "You bring your fleet in quickly, do as much damage as you can, and get out. Attack from all directions so that they can't concentrate their forces. If you still have any of those repurposed mines your people used on the attacks on Frenn, use those. Hurt them as much as you can, and force them to spread their defensive forces out all around the space. Then you pull out and Derek's fleet comes in from a single vector in a concentrated attack." 

"Are you looking to destroy the base or capture it?" 

Derek considered the question for a minute and then said, "Capture." 

"Then you're going to need boarding craft." 

They kept talking, discussing the merits of going for the docking ports versus using hull cutters. The docking ports were away from the station and exposed, and could be severed by the security systems, but hull cutters took a great deal of time and Derek's army apparently didn't use many because they didn't tend to need them in the sort of battles they engaged in. Stiles let the words drift over him. He ought to focus, since this debate was going to settle the strategy for a battle that would affect the entire galaxy, but military strategy had always been more his father's area of expertise than his, so Stiles closed his eyes, giving in to the aching tiredness that filled his entire being. 

He was aware, vaguely, of his dad mentioning that he had a boarding craft with hull cutters. It was one of the rebels' most prized ships, a weapon used in more raids and attacks than any other ship in the rebel fleet. Without it, the rebels would never have been able to cut into cargo ships to steal the supplies necessary to keep them alive. Without it, most of the victories the rebels had ever won would have been impossible. And now here was his dad, offering the ship to Derek for use in this attack. 

That, more than anything, told Stiles that his dad was serious about this. He really was committing to fighting alongside Derek. That thought made Stiles smile. He was still smiling as he drifted back to sleep.


	45. Chapter 40

Derek didn't want to wake Stiles, but Stilinski didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, so he shook his son gently on the shoulder. Derek kept his distance while they said a few quiet words to each other, and then embraced gently. Then, of course, Stiles was already awake, so Derek handed over the computer with his research notes while Isaac and Erica escorted Stilinski to the shuttle bay, giving him back the shuttle he'd used to come here. It was still fuelled up and supplied. Derek had kept his promise to keep it ready, just in case Stiles ever changed his mind and wanted to leave. He hadn't ever imagined that Stiles would be staying here while his father left. 

He was a little surprised Stilinski had let Stiles remain here, but then again, Stiles wasn't really in a condition to be moved right now and it was unlikely the rebels had much in the way of medical equipment. So Stiles would be staying behind to be treated and to help Derek out with his research. Derek wondered if it would be possible to leave Stiles somewhere safe before it came to the fight, but he wasn't sure that would be an option. He wanted so much to keep Stiles out of this, to keep him safe, but he suspected Stiles would have to be more than half dead to agree to anything of the sort. At least Stiles might be willing to stay out of the direct fighting if he felt he was contributing enough with the research. 

Stiles tapped at the computer, bringing up files and lists that hovered over his bed on a projector set up so that he wouldn't even have to sit up to operate it. 

"So," Stiles said, "what names are you looking for? Do you want me to give you a list of officers who are loyal and honourable and likely to uphold their oaths of service to you? Or do you want the names of people who will fight with you against Deucalion?" 

"Wouldn't those be the same lists?" Derek asked. 

Stiles gave a little snort that suggested amused derision. "Definitely not. The second list will be a whole lot longer. There will be people who would fight for you because they think you're more likely to win, or they think you'll pay them lots of money for helping, or they want you to make them governor of their own planet. You're more likely to find people who'll fight for their own selfish reasons than for the good of the galaxy." 

That seemed much more cynical than Stiles had been in the past. Had the time spent here, researching for Derek tarnished some of the shine off his optimism? Derek hoped not. He liked Stiles wild and determined, believing he could change the galaxy if he just argued hard enough, but maybe they would be more successful this way, if Stiles' attitude was tempered by reality. He was probably right about getting people to fight for their own reasons but Derek could still hold out hope that there were good people in the galaxy, and in his military. 

"Start with the first list," Derek said. "If that's too short, we can look at the best options on the second list. I just don't want to stop one corrupt figure by promising power and wealth to other people just as corrupt." The sort of people who would turn against their general for the sake of personal power were the sort of people Derek probably didn't want to put in positions of power. 

"They might not all be corrupt," Stiles said. "I can also look for people who just hate Deucalion. He's bound to have hurt a lot of people, so we can use good old-fashioned revenge as a motivation too. It doesn't really matter if they even like you, so long as they hate Deucalion more." 

"That... is a surprisingly good point," Derek said, mind already working. 

"Well, I should get on with this." 

"I'll be back to see what you've got soon." 

Derek wanted to reach out, to give some gesture of comfort the way Stiles' father had, but he wasn't sure whether it would be appreciated, or what gesture would even by appropriate. Would patting Stiles' hand be seen as too intimate? Would squeezing his shoulder feel like he was trying to encroach on the way Stiles and his father acted together? Would all of it just seem awkward? In the end, Derek just gave him a nod and walked away. 

Besides, Stiles had the projector running and Derek didn't want to mess up his notes and files by sticking his hand in the middle of the display. Yes, that was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Derek hadn't reached out to Stiles. It had nothing to do with feeling nervous, or worrying that Stiles might react badly to Derek trying to touch him in some way. 

He left medical and Scott hurried after him, trying to fall into step with him but not having the same practiced ease at doing so that Boyd and the others now had. At some point, someone had found him a uniform, so Scott at least looked the part of one of his security team. Not that Derek had given him much choice about playing that part. It probably wasn't right that he'd forced Scott into such a role, especially given the danger that Derek now found himself in. Scott hadn't been given much of a choice in most of his life and now Derek was just another person pushing him around, giving him orders. 

"You don't have to be on my security team if you don't want to," Derek told him. "What I said before, I wanted to make sure that the other three were taken to medical. Now that they're OK, I don't mind if you want to stop." 

Scott didn't answer at once. He appeared to be thinking it over. 

"It's better to be doing something," Scott said, "than killing time trying to work out where I fit." 

There were probably worse reasons for taking a job like this, but that was still a pretty bad one. Scott wasn't doing this because he wanted it, but because no one had offered him anything better. That was no reason to put his life on the line to try and protect Derek. Although, given what was about to happen, even staying on this ship was likely to be putting his life on the line. Did Derek even have the right to ask that? After all, Scott had never signed up to be in his service. He'd never chosen to be here or agreed to follow the orders that had sent him here. He'd had no choice about anything that had happened to him since Derek had chosen to interfere in his life. 

"You don't even have to stay on this ship," Derek said. "If you want to leave before the fighting starts, I could spare a shuttle. You could go somewhere else." 

"And my mom?" Scott asked. 

Derek wanted to say that he needed her here, that he needed her looking after Stiles, but there were other medics, ones who had wanted the posting on this ship, ones who hadn't been pushed into it. Derek needed everyone he could get right now, but he didn't want to be like a slaver, forcing people to lay down their lives and not caring about their freedom. 

"If she wants to leave too," Derek said. "She can." 

Scott considered again. 

"I think she'll want to stay," he said. "You helped us, and this fight is important. It all started because you were helping people like my mom, people who were hurt unfairly, right?" 

Derek nodded. The problem was bigger than that, and he suspected that Deucalion must have been planning this for a very long time, but the trigger that had made Derek act now was certainly his attempts to investigate corruption. Melissa McCall was just the tip of the iceberg and now he was facing the reality that Stiles and his dad had tried to tell him: that the entire military was corrupt to its core. 

"I think my mom will want to stay and help," Scott said. "I do too. This matters." 

"Good. Thank you." Derek thought there might be a way for them to help him and stay safe at the same time, but he didn't mention it quite yet. He would need to ask whether Stiles was well enough to be moved, whether whatever equipment was needed to keep him alive could be loaded onto a shuttle. Derek didn't want him anywhere near the battle when this all went to hell, and he would have already played his part with his research. If Derek could send him away with Melissa to tend to his medical needs and Scott to protect him, then Derek could focus properly on the battle and not spend half his energy worrying about whether Stiles was going to get hurt. 

But that was an argument he could have with Stiles later. For now, he had another argument ahead of him. He'd reached his destination and opened the door, letting himself inside Allison's room. 

She was sitting on the bed, but leapt to her feet when she saw him, looking poised for a fight. She looked a little disshevelled, probably from the earlier fight and that awful jump, but her glare wasn't any less angry than it had been back on Afgurn. She hated him, there was no doubt. Now it was time to see whether she would hate Deucalion more. 

"Hello, Allison," Derek said. 

"Hale." 

"Have you heard of a man called Deucalion?" 

Allison seemed surprised by the question. "He's one of your generals. Aunt Kate called him your attack dog." 

"Not anymore. Earlier today, Deucalion tried to kill me." 

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" 

"I want you to understand why. I have been trying to improve things with my military, to stamp out corruption and put right situations where people have been treated unfairly, like Scott and his mom being sent to Afgurn when they hadn't done anything wrong. Like your situation. I met with Deucalion to talk about this, and to talk about how to make sure soldiers don't get away with killing and hurting innocent people but he likes things the way they are. Deucalion served as general to my mother and my uncle. He was probably involved in a lot of the acts that your family thought justified the bombing and he was definitely involved in the manhunt that led to you getting captured and sent to Afgurn. And now he has tried to kill me and I have to fight back." 

"Two monsters are trying to kill each other. What do you expect me to do? Except celebrate that one of you will probably end up dead." 

"I want you to help me make sure it's Deucalion." 

"Why the hell would I do that?" 

"I'm trying to be a better leader than those who came before me, than those your mother and aunt thought deserved death, but Deucalion didn't want that. Deucalion wanted the corruption and violence to continue, so he tried to take me out. If I can stop Deucalion's forces, I will have the opportunity to reform the military completely, to change everything about it that causes so many problems. I can make the galaxy better by turning the military back into a peace-keeping force instead of a tool of oppression. But if Deucalion's forces kill me and put a puppet on the throne, nothing will change." 

"I still don't see what you expect me to do about it," Allison said. "It's not like I can single-handedly taken on your enemies." 

"Not single-handedly," Derek agreed. "I'm going to let you go. There's a possibility that your father and grandfather are out there somewhere, conducting attacks against the military. Maybe you know where they are or how to contact them." 

"You'll let me go so I can lead you to them." 

"I have too many problems to deal with right now to follow you. I will let you go so that you can find them and tell them what's going on. I want you to convince them to attack Deucalion's forces." 

"You want them to do your dirty work for you." 

"Taking out Deucalion's forces is the best chance at improving things for the galaxy. They will never have another shot like this." 

Allison continued glaring. "You don't actually care about improving anything. You just want to get rid of a threat to your power." 

"I don't know, Ally," put in Scott, who'd been watching quietly through this whole conversation. "He helped Mom when he didn't have to, and he was just in the medical area donating his own blood to help people who were hurt. I think he means it." 

She didn't argue instantly the way she had when Derek had been talking, which was probably a good start. She was more likely to listen to Scott than she was to him. Either way, Derek would be letting her go. He would put her in a shuttle and send her wherever she wanted to go. Maybe she would find her grandfather. Maybe she'd just run. 

Derek knew he was taking a risk in letting her go, but it wasn't a massive one. Once the fighting started, there was a good chance that any rebel forces following the Argents would notice and they might seize the opportunity to attack while the military was divided. By releasing Allison, he was marginally increasing the chances that they would join the fight on his side instead of attacking both sides or siding with Deucalion's forces. Even if she didn't go back to her family or the Argents decided to stay out of this battle, Derek wasn't really losing anything. It wasn't like she would do him much good as a hostage against her family if Deucalion's people slaughtered him. 

This slim chance that she might bring her family's forces into the fight was worth the cost of letting her go. If she had even a hint of doubt about him, perhaps that would be enough to bring her family to peace negotations once the mess with Deucalion was over, assuming he could survive it. It was possible she would join up with her family to fight against him, but one more person with the rebel forces wouldn't make that big of a difference. Besides, that was a problem for the future. Right now, he had enough to worry about with the problem of surviving another day and his chances were helped by convincing this angry teenager to hate Deucalion more than she hated him. 

"Allison," he said, "I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to make up for what my family have done in the past. Deucalion, if he survives this, is just going to keep things as they are or make them worse. I'm not asking you to like me. I'm not asking you to forgive me for what my uncle did to you and your family. All I ask is that you think about this, because if anyone needs to be stopped, it's Deucalion and that's something I hope your family and I can agree on." 

He didn't do anything to push the matter like offer his hand to shake. He just left those words to sink in and went off to arrange for her shuttle, just one more thing on a very long list of things to do. Allison would go free, whether she agreed with him or not, and he just had to hope that this wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass.


	46. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will put this fic into position as my third longest fic on AO3. 
> 
> I've only just finished writing this chapter so it's un-proof-read and I apologise for any typos, but I figured you'd probably want to get the update today anyway. :)

Stiles tried to restructure his research to fit with his new subject, an act that was made difficult by his current position. He'd promised that he wouldn't even sit up, which meant he was trying to contain his research to the space above his bed. He liked to spread out when he researched. He liked to have his notes all around him so he could look at all the different pieces and see how they were connected. It was hard to draw connections when everything was gathered right above him because he was just left with a bunch of glowing lines linking the projected files, blocking his view of the files themselves. 

He wanted to be up and about, pacing through the research, grouping things together in the air and moving them around as he worked through them. He didn't know how anyone could work on stuff while sitting still at a desk, and he was fairly sure that lying in bed was his least optimal position for working, but he'd made a promise and right now he wasn't sure he was up for standing and pacing anyway. 

His head was still aching, despite Melissa giving him something for the inflammation and appearing frequently with bottles of some slightly sweet liquid to drink. Stiles wasn't sure how much of this stuff he'd drunk, but he was trying very hard not to think about what was going on with the tubes under the bed covers. 

The work was going more slowly than Stiles would have liked. The first time Melissa had shown up with the drink, the projector had mistaken him reaching for the bottle as him gesturing to trash a collection of files, which meant he'd had to waste time retrieving them and then had to try and force his mind back to where it had been before the interruption. 

The biggest problem was that people's personnel files didn't include nice, little labels he could search for that proclaimed whether they were traitors or not. He could search by rank or position, by planet of origin or the grades they got in training, but there was no nice marker that would tell him whether these people would side with the overlord or with the general. 

He started by looking into disciplinary records, looking for people who had no records at all to begin with, but that didn't tell him much of anything. And most of the people who went around slaughtering innocent people in raids got away with it. Some were even commended for taking out whole outposts of supposed rebels. So Stiles flipped it around. He started looking for people who had records for not completing their duty properly. There were people who were criticised, reprimanded, or even dismissed from service for failing to shoot during military raids and for disobeying orders. From this angle, Stiles was able to get a bit more success. He started pulling together the names of people who had made a decision not to kill civilians who weren't proven to be rebels. 

Of course, looking at it this way meant that a lot of the people he was finding had received dishonourable discharges and weren't part of the military anymore, but that still left possibilities. 

He was making progress but not nearly as much as he might have liked. Still, at least he'd managed to get somewhere with his lists by the time Derek returned. Stiles missed the times when Derek gave him several days to put his research together. 

"What do you have?" Derek asked. 

Stiles pushed some of his hovering notes to one side so he could show his lists more easily. 

"This is the main list you want," he said. "These are people who have flagged issues of corruption with other officers, who have been at the side-lines of II investigations but found to be innocent of wrongdoing, who've run their crews within the rules. They toe the line despite corruption all around them. Basically, these are the people in command positions who's records show that they are likely to pick your side over Deucalion, especially if you explain that he started his coup because you were trying to clean up the military." 

"Stiles, there are less than ten names on this list." 

"Yeah, I know. Most of the people we want tend to get passed over for promotion or shunted into dead end posts, so there aren't enough who have control of ships or outposts. If you add in those who are in senior positions but not command posts," Stiles touched some controls and more names appeared on the list, shining in a different colour, "it gets a bit longer, but not a lot. If you approach these guys, they might be able to put pressure on their commanding officer, or maybe even have mutinies if the CO refuses to obey you. The problem is that these guys are mostly out of the fringes in the placements no one wanted. It could take them days or weeks to get to somewhere useful for you." 

Derek stared at the names. He sighed. "You said there were other lists?" 

"Yep. This is the list of boring people." 

"Boring people?" 

"Commanders with clean records. Nothing stands out about them. That could be because they're good and honourable and so never do anything wrong. It could be because they keep their heads down and don't make waves, in which case they might hang back and see who comes out the winner before they pick a side. They might be happy with the status quo and prefer the you don't shake things up. Basically, I don't have enough information to know which side these people will come down on. Probably some on either side." 

Derek stared at the list some more. 

"Earlier, you were talking about the people who'll join for personal gain?" 

"Yes, yes I was. That would be this list." Stiles brought up the names. It was a significantly longer list than the first one, but whether it would be long enough was another question. These people will probably join your side if you promise to pay them. Of course, if they think Deucalion's side is more likely to win, or if they get offered more by someone else, there's a chance they'll turn around and stab you in the back but I've tried to sort the list with the ones I think most likely to stick with you at the top. A lot of that's guesswork though, so be careful." 

"I will. Thanks." 

Derek sighed again and then reached for his computer to transfer the files. 

"I have another list," Stiles said. 

Derek looked a little surprised. "We've got the honourable ones, the greedy ones, and the ones with no record. What other list is there?" 

Stiles brought up a personnel file. "Meet Captain Braeden Marshall. She was in your forces until about five years ago when she received a dishonourable discharge for dereliction of duty. Try saying that ten times fast. Dishonour-"

"Stiles, focus." 

Stiles caught himself and got back on track. "Right. Sorry." 

"Why are you looking at her anyway? I thought you were trying to find people who were honourable." 

"Yes, but what's interesting is what she got her discharge for. She was ordered to fire a missile at a building where it was suspected a group of rebels were hiding out. She refused and basically got kicked out on her ass for failing to follow orders, but the reason she refused to fire was because that building happened to be a school." 

"She didn't want children to be collateral damage." 

"Precisely," said Stiles. "She was a brilliant officer before that. Ridiculous credentials for pilot skills and combat, commendations for bravery, on the fast track to success, but she threw it all away on principle because she wouldn't kill children." 

"She sounds like exactly the sort of person we want to work with," Derek said, "but what good does that do us if she was discharged?" 

"She runs a private security firm. Half a dozen ships under her command. She hires out to anyone who'll pay her to guard cargo, protect VIPs, all that sort of thing. From what I can tell, she's worked with some pretty shady characters since her discharge, but there are lines and she hires a lot of ex-military people who got kicked out under similar circumstances to her. Plus she's a hell of a lot closer to Coriolis than most of the others on the lists." 

Derek smiled a little at the irony of the situation. "I theoretically control the largest military force in the history of the galaxy, and I'm hiring private security." 

"Desperate times and all that." 

"Yeah. I guess I'd better get on with contacting these people. Thank you." 

"I'll keep working," Stiles said. "I might be able to find you a few more names." 

Derek reached his hand towards Stiles as though he was going to pat his arm or something, but he hesitated and reached for his computer instead. "Don't work too hard. You're supposed to be resting." 

Melissa chose that moment to come over with another bottle of that drink she'd been forcing down Stiles' throat and Derek asked her, "How's he doing?" 

"He's out of danger. I still have some concerns about his liver function and brain swelling, but we've got in under control. The muscle inflammation should be cleared up in a day or two, at which point it will be safe for him to be more active without it putting a strain on his cardiovascular system, and we still have a feed of synthblood to make sure we've got all of the poison out of his system." 

Derek nodded as though he understood what all of that meant in real terms. In Stiles' opinion there was a very long list of problems for something that was supposed to be a positive answer but Derek seemed to be happy with it. He asked, "When will it be safe to move him?" 

"Move me?" Stiles asked. He started to push himself up on an elbow which earned him a glare from Melissa. Stiles slumped back down again. 

"He shouldn't be walking around for at least another day, preferably longer, and I want to keep a close eye on his vitals in case of any changes." 

"But could he be monitored with portable equipment? On something that would fit on a shuttle?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles demanded. He wanted to stand between them and start arguing, but he had picked up on the whole thing about inflammation and his cardiovascular system, which probably wasn't a good combination. He settled for glaring at Derek and saying, "We already had this argument about me leaving this ship." 

"Yes," Derek said. "You said you wouldn't leave so long as your dad was here. Well, he's not here anymore and this ship is going to be going into battle very soon." 

"You can't make me leave after everything I've done." 

"I can. You are in no position to put up a fight and Medic McCall can sedate you if necessary. I didn't just watch her safe your life for you to get blown to pieces in a battle." 

"But if the ship gets blown to piece what about you?" Stiles asked. "What happens then?" 

"Then I'm sure you'll be glad knowing that the galaxy has one less tyrant in it." Derek turned to Melissa and said, "Make the arrangements to move him onto a shuttle. I'll send Scott with you. His job is to keep you safe; your job is to keep Stiles alive. Coordinate with my administrators about the shuttle and talk to Lydia if anyone gives you any trouble." 

"Yes, sir," Melissa said. 

Derek just walked away like this was all decided, and Stiles couldn't chase after him, no matter how much he might want to. Did Derek really believe that? Did he really think Stiles would be happy if he died? He had to know that wasn't true, didn't he? Especially after everything Stiles had gone through to get him away from Deucalion. Surely that made it clear to Derek that he didn't want to see him die. Stiles had been poisoned for him! 

Unless Derek thought Stiles had only fought to save his own life, because he'd been trying to get away and they'd been better off as a group. It was entirely possible that Derek thought Stiles had saved his life because he'd felt it necessary for his own survival, not because he'd wanted to. After all, not so long ago, Stiles would have told Derek to his face that the universe would be better off if he dropped dead. 

But that was before Stiles had seen Derek change, seen all the effort he put into trying to make things better for people. His opinions of Derek had shifted and now Stiles thought the galaxy would be better off, at least for now, with Derek in charge, using his power to fix things. Maybe in the future, they would be able to implement some better system of government, some way to prevent a future tyrant from undoing all Derek's hard work, but that was the future and in Stiles' happy fantasy, that scenario ended with Derek taking a quiet retirement when someone else took over. 

Even if they were to completely restructure the politics of the galaxy, Stiles didn't want to see Derek die. But had he actually said anything of this out loud? Had he ever let Derek know? 

Stiles suspected that he hadn't. Derek probably thought that Stiles was only here because he had to be, or because he was fighting for change, not because he actually wanted to be where Derek was. He would have to change that. He would have to tell Derek the truth, that Stiles would stay here by choice, working with him to build a better future because he wanted to instead of because of some deal he'd made. But how could he tell him? Derek had gone off to prepare for the fight and Stiles was going to be sent away to safety, strapped into a medical bed. Stiles might never get a chance to tell Derek that his opinions had changed, that he didn't think of Derek as a tyrant anymore. 

He wasn't sure how it had happened or when, but somewhere between his revelation about Derek not being a monster and the betrayal by Deucalion, something had shifted in Stiles' feelings and his motives. This wasn't about Stiles or his dad anymore. This was about Derek, and had been for some time. He wanted to help Derek. He wanted to fight by Derek's side. He wanted to argue with him about politics and policies. He wanted to share dinners with him and to see that vulnerable side that he so rarely let slip. He wanted... Stiles wasn't sure exactly what he wanted, but he wanted to stay with Derek until he could figure it out. 

Stiles closed his eyes and tried not to cry at the fact that Derek had walked out of here, possibly to never see him again, believing Stiles would be glad to see him die. Derek had to survive the upcoming fight because this was yet another thing Stiles needed to put him right about. Derek had to come out the other side of the fight with Deucalion's forces because Stiles needed to tell him the truth. It was such a small truth but it felt right then like it had the weight of a black hole. The truth was: Stiles liked Derek. 

He just wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to tell him that and that knowledge made his chest ache more than the after effects of nearly dying.


	47. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, I only finished this chapter today, but I suspected you would prefer I prioritise rapid updates over careful proof-reading, so I apologise if it's full of typos. 
> 
> I couldn't find Braeden's last name anywhere, so I'm not sure if it's been given in canon, so I just made something up that seemed appropriate.

Derek regretted his words as soon as he saw the look on Stiles' face, but he wasn't going to apologise for them. It was better this way. Right now, Stiles was suffering from the effects of the poison and he was distracted by the fact that Derek had helped him with the blood donation. Just because Stiles had chosen Derek over Deucalion didn't mean that he'd continue choosing Derek once this crisis was over. Soon enough, Stiles would remember all the reasons he had to hate Derek and this temporary... whatever it was... between them would be over. 

Stiles had no reason to stay with Derek now that his father was free. He would be leaving anyway, going back to the life he'd had before Derek had abducted him and disrupted his entire existence. It was better he leave now, before the violence started again. This way he would be safe. This way, Derek could let him go before the act of letting him go hurt too much. Yes, Derek would miss him, but at least this way Stiles would be safe and free. He could go out there and meet people, enjoy his life, spend time with the people he chose to spend time with instead of those he was compelled to spend time with by circumstances he didn't control. He would meet someone who actually deserved him. Someone who wouldn't hurt him the way Derek had. 

Derek let himself feel sad all the way between medical and his office, but that was all he had time to indulge in. Once in his office, he brought up Stiles' list of names and the contact information for the officers and others Stiles thought would join his side, ordering the most promising by distance so that he would be talking first with those who had the furthest to travel. 

He checked with engineering in case they needed to get out of here in a hurry. It was unlikely that anyone would be able to trace the signal back to their location, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. Derek warned them to be ready for an emergency jump and was informed that the ship could probably handle it. From the nervousness in the engineering tech's voice, he hoped they wouldn't need to try. 

He opened the comms channel, sending his royal identification on the emergency frequencies. An instant later, a man's holographic form appeared in the projected image in front of him. The man saluted sharply, surprise and terror warring on his face. 

"Your majesty. Overlord Hale, this is an unexpected honour." 

"Captain, I am giving you new orders. Your ship is to leave its current patrol and head towards the galactic core. I will provide precise coordinates once you are closer. You are to keep your ship's position secret and take orders from no one but me. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Overlord." 

Derek might have been able to simply leave things there, but news about the attempted coup would get out, and it would be impossible to keep this a secret as more and more ships needed to leave their posts. He wished he could trust his officers to simply follow orders without question, but the people he was contacting were those most likely to question, to wonder about the morality of what they were being told to do. He wanted to offer them something. 

"You are probably not aware," Derek continued, "that I have been working to remove corruption from within the military ranks. Too many people in command positions are there not through merit but through cheating the system, through lying, through taking credit for other people's actions or covering up misdeeds. There are those who slaughter innocent people and then declare they were armed rebels after the fact to make themselves look like a hero, or who ignore corruption they see around them in order to benefit from it." 

The captain didn't look any less worried than when he'd answered the call, so Derek continued, "You are in the position you are in now, and obscure posting to a distant system," Derek couldn't actually remember the name of the system this man who currently in, "because you don't appear to play those games." 

The man's eyes widened a little. He still looked like he wasn't sure what was going on, and the worry wasn't completely gone, but he said, "No, sir." 

"I need officers like you with me," Derek said. "Officers who will do the right thing, for the force, for the people under their command, and for the innocent civilians this force is supposed to protect. It is time you were recognised for doing your duty." 

"Yes, sir." 

Derek wasn't sure if the man was saying that he wanted recognition, or if he was just agreeing because it seemed like the safest option until he figured out what was going on. 

"You need to know," Derek said, "that not all of my officers are the same way. There are some who are in high ranking positions through acting in despicable ways. Once they learned that I would be making those channels of corruption unacceptable, they decided that they would rather have a leader on the throne who would look the other way while they accumulated money and power at the expense of the innocent." 

The captain's eyes went wider again. He didn't say anything. 

"These officers are traitors to the throne and to the empire. I need good, loyal officers who will help me to deal with them. After this is done, there will be some gaps in significant positions that will need filling by people I can trust. Can I trust you?" 

The captain stood a little straighter, "Yes, Overlord Hale." 

"Good. You understand why the need for secrecy and why you should take orders only from me?" 

"Yes, Overlord Hale." 

"Then do your duty. I will send the rendezvous coordinates once you are closer." 

"Yes, Overlord Hale." 

The captain saluted again and Derek cut off the call. He moved on down the list. The calls were very similar. With some, he emphasised the part about wanting to get rid of corruption and do the right thing, with others, he emphasised the promise of a better posting in a more prominent position, all depending on which of Stiles' list the person had been on. After the first dozen calls, Derek was starting to lose track of exactly what he'd said to which person, the repetition of it all was getting to him so much. So far, all of the captains had agreed and said that they were coming to the core as he ordered them to. He didn't name the traitors, so he hoped that would reduce the chances of those captains deciding to contact Deucalion's forces and offer to double cross him. 

He wanted to believe that all of these people he'd been talking to, people who had saluted him and called him sir, would come out on his side, but he'd learned the hard way not to have faith in that. Going into the battle, he would have to be wary in case any one of these captains decided that they would get a better deal on the other side. 

Still, he kept on calling them because he had no other option. He needed these officers and their ships. 

He placed the next call, to a captain assigned to keep the peace on some rocky backwater world. The conversation started much as the others had, with Derek ordering the captain to gather her forces and bring them to the galactic core. She listened to Derek's explanations but she still didn't seem comfortable. At the end, when all the others had simply accepted the orders, she said, "Overlord Hale, may I have your permission to make an observation?" 

Derek was surprised, but he gave permission because clearly it had to be important for her to speak out like this. 

"Your majesty, I would not dream of disobeying you or questioning your orders, and I understand how important it is to stop these traitors, but I wonder if provisions have been made for the situation here on Otpar." 

"Elaborate," Derek said, because he couldn't remember much at all about the situation on Otpar. He could barely recall the world at all except with a vague recollection that it was a poor place with a lot of sweatshops and factories. 

"There has been a lot of... discontent among the general population of Otpar. My forces have the situation contained, but when we pull out it's possible, even likely, that the people will see that as an opportunity. Things will likely turn to violence." 

She was talking about an open revolt, a workers' uprising. The military force was there to keep the peace, to prevent fighting and to maintain order, but Derek's mind went to Stiles with all his talk of oppression and how the military kept people downtrodden. Stiles would probably say that the workers would be right to revolt. 

"Tell me, captain," Derek said, "what is your opinion of the workers' situation on Otpar?" 

The captain looked concerned, almost afraid, and Derek thought about the conversation he'd had with Liam, about how scared he'd been to speak his mind. He needed to reassure this woman that she could speak safely. 

"Captain, you can speak honestly. I have contacted you for this important mission precisely because you have shown honour and fairness in the execution of your duty. I want to know your honest opinion." 

The fact that she'd hesitated said a lot to begin with, but with that reassurance, she said, "The workers endure very difficult conditions. The work is hard, the rewards minimal." 

Derek suspected that was an understatement. "And your opinion of the planetary governor and their staff?" 

Another instance of hesitation. "They are very concerned with productivity. They care deeply about having enough goods to export off-planet to the rest of the empire." 

There was a great deal more said in the gaps between her words than in the words themselves. The governor cared about the productivity of the factories, not the people working in them. They cared about selling goods off-world and profiting from them. They didn't care about the millions of workers who were the source of that profit. Derek didn't know how difficult those difficult conditions would be but he could guess that the people there had good reason to have grievance against the governor. If Derek pulled his forces out, the situation would turn to violence, but Derek suspected that those who would be the target of the violence would be much like Harris. It was hard to care much about their fate. 

Maybe, on the other side of the violence, things could be made better on Otpar. If nothing else, Derek would have an excuse to come in personally to deal with the situation and that might let him put someone better in charge or enforce some sort of rules on the conditions of the people. He could help them more afterwards than he could now, and leaving a military force to maintain the current situation certainly wasn't helping. 

He knew what Peter would say, that it was a mistake to allow the possibility of a planetary revolt. If one planet's population got it into their heads that they could overthrow the empire-appointed governor, then other planets might do the same. The empire could crumble. Derek knew that Peter would probably have had a point, but right now his empire was threatening to break apart anyway. He needed to deal with Deucalion's forces and the traitors in his military. Otpar was too far away and too small to be much of a priority and he could probably help its people best by letting them fight. 

"Pull back your forces," Derek said. "All of them. I'm sure Otpar's governor is equipped to deal with the situation or they wouldn't have allowed the situation to get so bad." 

He knew as he said it that it was a lie. He knew that people were going to suffer. It was likely he was signing the governor's death sentence by pulling the troops out of there and he couldn't be sure that whoever ended up on top after the violence was over would be any better than the person in charge now. Others would suffer in whatever uprising occured and he would probably be facing consequences from this for years, with other planets seeing this as an example and following suit, unless Derek acted as Peter would have done and made the example one that struck fear into hearts across the galaxy. 

He knew that this was yet another problem piling up in his future. Everything he was doing now to try and stop Deucalion's coup was going to have a knock-on effect that could potentially cost him everything a few years down the line, but all he could do was deal with the problem that was right in front of him. Maybe he was being selfish, focusing on keeping his power instead of the lives of the people of Otpar. Maybe winning now and staying in power was the best way to help those people. It was hard to know one way or the other. He just had to do what he thought best and if he worried about every life on every planet, he'd never be able to focus enough to stop the immediate problem. 

So he gave the captain her orders and got on with the list. He ordered the other ships back too, the ones where Stiles had advised that it was a lower ranking officer to target. On those ships, Derek asked to speak to the senior staff, not singling out who was the one who'd drawn his attention to that ship and focusing a little harder in his speech on the promise of rewards. He hoped that would be enough to sway those ships to his cause. 

In the end, he would have about fifty ships joining his little fleet, though many of them were old and he wasn't sure he would have time to wait for all of them. He would need the support of those nearer to hand, which meant he had to make the other call. He found the information Stiles had given him on Braedan Marshall. 

Unfortunately, since she was now a civilian, her ship wasn't equipped with direct channels Derek could connect to. He was forced to go through civilian comms links which meant he didn't have an instant connection to the captain's emergency frequency. Instead he got a comms officer, who looked suspiciously at him out of an old-style two-dimensional comms display. 

"Who is this?" the comms officer asked. 

"This is Overlord Hale," he said, even though the comm signal request should have included that information. He expected the officer to respond with more respect. Instead, he cut off the call. 

Derek made the connection again. 

"You really think prank calling a security firm is a good idea?" the comms officer asked. 

"This isn't a prank call," Derek said. "I am Overlord Hale." 

"It's a good hack job on the video feed, I'll grant you," the comms officer said, "but I'm not buying it. Why the hell would the overlord be calling this company?" 

He cut off the call again. This wasn't going to plan. Derek had expected to talk about the need to put right the military to stop the deaths of innocent children. He'd planned to offer a full overturning of any convictions against the captain or her crew as well as restoration to the military with back pay and possibly even promotions where applicable. He hadn't been prepared for the possibility that they wouldn't even believe he was really who he said he was. 

Derek tapped into the face recognition software from the video feed to get this officer's name and compared it with Stiles' notes. Thankfully, Stiles had been as thorough as always. Derek gave himself two minutes to read Stiles' summary and then he made the call again. 

"What?!" the comms officer demanded. 

"Petty Officer Damian Sothern, formerly serving on board Trident. Public lashing and dishonourable discharge under the accusation of stealing military supplies and selling them on the black market. Your defence was that the supplies in question were relief and medical equipment meant to be distributed after a disaster. You claimed that you weren't the one selling them, your captain was, but he pinned the blame on you when you tried to report his offence to your deployment base." 

The comms officer's eyes had gone wide. 

"How... how do you know that?" 

"As overlord, I have full access to military files, including disciplinary records. Yours made some interesting reading. So did your captain's. Put me through to her private comms. There is a lot I have to discuss with her about the current state of corruption in my military." 

The comms officer stared for a moment longer and then he snapped to attention, saluting smartly. "Sir, yes, sir."


	48. Interlude 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be visiting my parents over the weekend so I'm not sure how much time I'll have for writing.

Noah had been aware that getting back to the rebels wouldn't be as simple as leaving them. He hadn't made any arrangements for reuniting with them because he had never expected it to be possible. When he'd left them, he had believed he would never see any of them again, and he hadn't organised any method of contact or tracking their movements for that reason, and because any method they arranged would be information he might reveal under torture to the overlord. Besides, there hadn't been much chance to discuss anything because he hadn't really told anyone he was leaving. He'd told Parrish, but then been forced to experience Parrish trying repeatedly to convince him not to go. If he'd told anyone else, they would have argued just as strongly for him not to give up his life for Stiles. 

But he'd gone. And now he had to figure out how to get back. 

It took him three tries to guess where the rebels had relocated after his departure. He'd expected that they wouldn't want to stay in the same place once someone who knew the location of their headquarters was imprisoned by the overlord. There had been only a limited number of options where they might have moved base to, thankfully, so he was able to track them down. He'd been a little worried that they might have moved somewhere entirely new, somewhere he had no knowledge of, as a safety precaution. 

Thankfully, he tracked them down on his third attempt, picking up faint signals from a rocky moon that had no atmosphere and no listed habitations. The rebels had used this place as a stash for resources and it had been on the list as a potential fall back location should they be forced to move. Noah broadcast his identification code and waited for contact. 

Getting into the rebel base proved to be as difficult as finding them. At first, there was no response to his comm signal, then the comms officer wanted to verify his identity, asking a lot of questions and giving him opportunity to give code words that would have let them know if he was being held at gunpoint and being forced to make contact. In the end, Parrish came on the comm and told him that they wanted to search the shuttle before they would let him land. He was apologetic but determined. Noah didn't argue. 

He waited while another shuttle came up from the base and docked with his. He let the search party on board, and didn't complain as they searched him as thoroughly as they searched the shuttle for bugs or traps. Only when they were convinced the shuttle wasn't rigged to explode or anything like that did they agree to let him land, but two of the rebel soldiers stayed to watch over his descent in case of tricks. 

It was hard for Noah to feel resentful of all this suspicion, because he probably would have demanded the same precautions if someone else known to be the overlord's prisoner showed up unannounced a few weeks after their capture. Once inside the base, the the shuttle port sealed and pressurised, Noah emerged from the shuttle to find Parrish waiting for him. 

Parrish greeted him with a hug, a fiercely friendly gesture that was something he never would have done before Noah's surrender. It seemed he'd been missed in his absence. 

"Are you alright?" Parrish asked. "How did you escape? Where's Stiles?" 

"Stiles is still on the overlord's ship," Noah said. "We don't have time for me to explain everything that's happened. We need to mobilise all our forces. We have to prepare for an all-out assault." 

"Taking on the overlord's flagship is too large a risk," Parrish said. "I know you want to rescue Stiles but..." 

"This isn't about Stiles. There has been an attempted coup. Right now, the overlord is fighting against forces loyal to General Deucalion. This is our best chance to strike." 

"You want to take on Hale while he's distracted and weakened fighting his own military?" 

"No. We're going to help Hale against Deucalion." 

Of course, after a statement like that, Noah was forced to explain more. He wished he could just give the orders and have everyone fall into line, but he'd given up his command position when he'd surrendered to Hale and that meant he had to convince those who'd taken charge in his absence. Noah found himself in a small meeting room, trying to explain why he wanted to help Hale and repeating until he felt ready to explode from frustration that this wasn't because Hale had Stiles hostage. He tried to convince them that Hale wasn't as bad as his family, and he certainly wasn't as bad as Deucalion, and that if they helped Hale win this fight they might be able to influence change through negotiating with Hale instead of fighting. 

His former friends and allies reacted to this by suggesting that they take Noah's blood and check whether he'd been dosed with something that would make him more susceptible to brainwashing. 

Noah was ready to scream. He wasn't sure how to convince them all that he wasn't brainwashed. No, he didn't think Derek Hale was perfectly good and a fine ruler, but he was certainly better than letting the likes of Deucalion run the galaxy, but even that much of a softening of his attitude was treated as suspicious. Others felt that the best option was to let Hale and Deucalion fight it out and then bring their forces against whichever happened to come out the winner once the first fight had worn down their defences. As a plan, that wasn't so bad, but Noah had been convinced by Stiles that their best bet was to work with Hale. He wanted to use the fact he'd left Stiles in Hale's care as proof that Hale wasn't so bad, but that fact just made the others more suspicious of him, believing he'd never leave Stiles behind under any circumstances. 

The discussions were going in circles and Noah was no closer to convincing them to join the fight. Once again, he tried explaining that Derek's recent policy decisions were proof that he could be reasoned with, when a new voice joined the conversation from the doorway. 

"I told you that he didn't have the strength to do what is necessary." 

Noah turned to see this new figure, an older man whose grey hair was in retreat but who still appeared strong. The man was familiar but not someone from Noah's rebel group so it took him a moment to place him. Then the memory clicked into place and he knew who was standing in front of him: Gerard Argent.


	49. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think that a new chapter meant a resolution to that last cliffhanger, did you? 
> 
> And now, 43 chapters and 100k+ words in, I finally get to the reason why this fic has this title. I've hinted at this before, but now it's laid out. 
> 
> I've only just finished writing this chapter, so once again apologies for any typos.

Braeden did not seem remotely swayed by speeches about fairness or justice, or promises about removing corruption from the military, or even the offer of restoring her to the military and granting a substantial promotion so that she could fill the gaps left by traitors. Her reaction to such offers was to say that she was happy running her own company. 

"A whole lot less people I don't like giving me orders I like less," she said. 

"Don't you want to be involved in making the orders better?" Derek asked. She shrugged. 

On the other hand, there was one very simple thing that would sway her to working on his side against Deucalion. 

"Two hundred million credits," she told him, meeting his eyes over their comm link and refusing to look away. 

"That's a lot of money," Derek said. 

"You can afford it." 

He probably could, especially if he stopped paying for Deucalion's research into genetically engineering people to steal his throne, but it was still a lot of money, and it could cause problems later if everyone else wanted to know why they hadn't been offered the same outrageous fees for their assistance. 

"What do you want with two hundred million credits?" Derek asked. 

"A girl's got to eat." 

"You need to find yourself a better grocer." 

Braeden actually smiled at that, but the sign that she had a sense of humour didn't weaken her stance in the slightest. 

"And you, your majesty, need to find yourself a fleet willing to risk their lives to keep you on the throne. That's expensive work. If you want my people to put our lives on the line for you, you're going to pay us." 

"So that money would be split across your crew?" 

"They're taking the same risks, they should get the same reward." 

That was a logical approach to take, and the amount of money didn't seem quite so extravagant when it was divided between the crew on all the ships she controlled. It was likely she'd keep a larger cut than the equal share, as might her officers, but if the money really was going to be split between everyone then the fee almost seemed reasonable. After all, Derek was asking them to risk everything. If Deucalion's forces won, Braeden and her crews might very likely face torture and death even if they made it through the initial battle. 

"How do I know that you won't turn around and sell your services to Deucalion's forces for a larger prize?" Derek asked. 

"My professional reputation. Once I enter into a contract, I see it through to the end, otherwise no one would be able to trust me enough to hire me. If we have a deal, you can count on that. Besides, what choice do you have?" 

Derek would have preferred it if she hadn't pointed out how desperate he was. He knew how few of his officers he could rely on right now, and presumably Braeden knew it too. Her price was set so high precisely because she knew he would be compelled to pay it. Derek could try to argue some more, but that would just make him seem weaker when he inevitably caved to her demands. 

"Very well," he said. "We have a deal. If you bring all your ships into the battle and you help me win against Deucalion's forces, you will get your payment." 

"Great. I'll have my finance department send you an invoice. Even if something happens to me, you will pay my company." 

She said it with surprising cheerfulness and Derek tried not to show his reaction because he wasn't sure if anyone had ever sent him an invoice before. It must have happened that his administrators received them, but usually that was a detail that he didn't have to think about. He just nodded, accepting her comment and accepting that everything he knew about his place in the galaxy was still in the process of being turned on its head. 

The agreement made, Derek summoned Lydia and got Braeden to share the technical specifications of her ships and weapons. They had their rough plan laid out for the assault and now they added the details. Braeden had no problem with interrupting and giving her own opinions when she thought that Lydia was making the wrong decision. 

"You know all the fancy names for strategies and theories," Braeden said, "but have you ever actually been in combat?" 

Lydia straightened, "I have been performing combat analysis and mathematical modelling on attack data for-" 

"So that's a no," said Braeden. She proceeded to talk about the deployment of her ships and the strategies they should use. When the meeting was over, Derek felt a bit better about this whole situation. Braeden, he was confident, wouldn't have signed up to join his fight unless she felt she stood a good chance of coming out the other side with her life and her payment. 

When the call ended, Derek wrote a quick summary of orders to be sent to the other ships in his little fleet, and then sent a coded signal on the frequency Stilinski had given him, giving the time he wanted the rebels to start their assault on the Coriolis base. They didn't have a secure channel for him to actually speak to Stilinski, which was making him more than a little nervous, so he just had to trust that the man would live up to his end of the agreement and send his ships into the fight as he'd promised. Derek thought he would, both because of the man's honourability but also because he didn't think there was anything in the universe that Stilinski wouldn't do for his son. 

Derek checked the arrangements for Stiles' transport off this ship, not wanting to go see to them in person because he knew Stiles would only try to argue again. It was better for his health if he wasn't put under strain and arguing probably counted as strain. Derek gave himself that moment to be relieved that Stiles would survive, and then he got on with his next task, which was to record the official announcement about the situation. 

No one from Deucalion's forces had made any sort of announcement. Derek's crew had been monitoring all communications from Coriolis base as best they could from this distance and while there was some encrypted traffic, there was nothing broadcast on the public network. They had no way of knowing what point-to-point communications might have been going on, but nothing had made it onto the news feeds or even the social chatter. Derek wasn't sure if this silence was because Deucalion's people were trying to verify that he was dead so that they could be sure any official announcement wouldn't be revealed immediately as a lie, or if it was because Deucalion was dead and no one knew who was in charge over there or had any plan for moving forward. Derek was hoping for the latter but strongly suspecting the former. 

Either way, the silence meant that Derek could get his story out first, but he didn't want to pronounce his survival until his fleet were ready to attack. He would record his message and then wait until the appointed time for his ships to get into position. Only then would he broadcast his condemnation of Deucalion, and the message would be the signal for Stilinski's people to begin their attack. Hopefully Deucalion's forces would be too busy trying to fight off the rebel forces to come up with a suitable response and that would give more time for Derek's message to spread and for more people to hear his side of the story. 

If he survived, he would need as many people on his side as possible. 

He decided to do the broadcast recording from his office, to give the impression of someone working hard rather than a military leader addressing the troops. He had done enough broadcasts before that he didn't need any assistance with preparing the speech or setting up the equipment to record. He set the script running in the prompt screen and fixed his eyes on the recorder. 

"Citizens of the Empire, my people," he hoped that would come across as an expression of unity, not of an owner addressing slaves, "some of you may be aware of some recent changes I have made to policies and government programs, like the new regulations for improving safety for miners, or the rolling out of the food credit program to more worlds to help the poor and the sick. These changes are the first baby steps towards making this empire a better place for all its citizens, not just those like myself who have had the good fortune of being born into wealth and power." 

He knew that if he actually wanted people to listen to him, he had to acknowledge the truth of the power he held. He couldn't pretend to be one of the masses, but he could recognise that it was luck more than merit had separated him from them. 

"The next step of my plan was to address the issues of corruption in the military. This is not a simple problem to fix and the issues take many shapes, from a young mother sent to the Poison Pit on false charges laid by an ex-husband with more power and a grudge against her for calling out his abusive behaviour, to an innocent, unarmed woman shot by a soldier who not only failed to get her medical attention but who then claimed she had been a rebel insurgent so that he could avoid consequences. The military is meant to exist to protect the innocent civilians of the empire, not to kill and oppress them. There are soldiers who faced punishment because they attempted to call out the corruption of their senior officers, and those people deserve recognition and justice. I arranged a meeting with General Deucalion to start discussions about fixing these problems, to come to an understand of how we can rid the military of those who would act with cruelty and corruption, and to help those good people who have been victims, both outside the military and within." 

He leaned towards the recorder slightly, trying to make his expression appropriately grave. He couldn't help feeling that Peter would have come across as a thousand times more sincere if he attempted to give a speech like this, even if Peter would have thought every word an abomination. 

"I met with General Deucalion expecting to put a plan into motion to help the empire, but it seems that General Deucalion had no interest in helping anyone but himself. For years, he has been funneling government funding that was meant for defending the innocent into a bioresearch program on genetic engineering and cloning. He cloned one of my sisters and then attempted to murder me so that he could put her on the throne as a puppet, ruling from the shadows behind her. He attempted to assassinate me now precisely because of my goal to rid the military of corruption. He was afraid I would uncover his own corruption, so he decided to strike first. His attempted coup failed, obviously." 

Derek leaned back a little, opening his arms wide to show his body, uninjured. 

"I survived this act of treachery, and Deucalion will pay, along with those who stand with him. I'm sure that there are soldiers who have served under him, who have followed orders in the belief that they were doing their duty in the defence of the empire. If any among Deucalion's forces surrender now, I will see to it that they receive mercy. No one should receive punishment for acts of treason performed unknowingly. But those who choose to side with Deucalion knowingly, who would join forces with a man who intended to rule through lies and corruption, to be a tyrant as bad as any of my ancestors, they will pay the price for their choice. When Deucalion and his followers fall, then we can work together to create a better galaxy for all people." 

He leaned forward again, staring intently into the recorder. "I put the call out now to all ships in the Coriolis sector to join with me in destroying this traitor, and preserving the hope for our better future." 

He ended the recording there and took a moment to just breathe, to relax without having to care about every facial tick or subtle shift in posture. Then he set the timer up for the broadcast. 

If he played this right, he could come out of this situation looking like a hero. He was the young ruler, recently come into power, fighting to make the galaxy better despite the machinations of the corrupt old guard. He might be throwing out most of Peter's rules, but his uncle had always talked about how vital appearance was. He had to appear strong, appear powerful, appear like a ruler to be afraid of. But what if fear and force weren't the only ways to control this empire? What if there was a third option his uncle had never taken advantage of? 

All those rules about propaganda could just as easily be applied to making him look like a saviour figure just as they had to making rulers look cruel and strong. He could play the angles and convince the people of the galaxy that he was fighting to save them, to give them safety and security, a better life for their children. He would still have to deal with politics and business owners and the subtle power plays that went with changing everything, but if the inhabitants of the empire saw him as a hero, as someone to be admired and respected, even loved, he could use that to his advantage just as much as fear. If he could make them hope for something better, he could make them fight for him as fiercely as people ever fought against him. 

The rebels, the likes of Stilinski, fought against him despite all the fear, despite all the armies lined up against them. They fought because they could see an image of better galaxy on the other side of all the fighting and they wanted to do everything in their power to make that better future a reality. 

This was the lesson that he never would have learned without Stiles. Peter had told him the two ways of maintaining power: through physical force and through making people afraid. Now Derek had something else: the hope for a better future. That was the third way, and that was the way Derek intended to use from now on. 

That was what he was using to get through the next hours or days: hope for his own future. Because he hoped that somewhere on the other side of all of this, he would be able to see Stiles again, and thank him for everything he had taught him.


	50. Chapter 44

Derek returned to the bridge. He had to be in command for this attack. It wasn't that he doubted his captain or crew in their ability to run the battle, but he needed to be the one giving orders both for the message that would send about his leadership, and because he couldn't hide behind others to avoid the guilt that would inevitably follow for all the deaths caused today. 

Lydia and Danny were both on the bridge with him, ready to give advice where needed. Derek wasn't sure entirely what help Danny, as a computer expert, hoped to offer, but he could understand the need not to be shut out of these events. The tension was like a physical force through the whole ship, with all the crew and workers on edge. Derek had sent off some of the non-essential workers, including most of his administrative staff, in shuttles so that their lives wouldn't be at risk when the battle started, but he didn't dare rid the ship of engineers or soldiers given what was about to happen. 

As it was, the ship was barely repaired from their last combat experience. They could make a hyperspace jump into the Coriolis system, but Lydia had plotted the calculations to bring them in well away from the gravitational masses and she was a little less confident about their ability to make another emergency jump out of there. They wouldn't be able to survive another jump like the last one. 

Derek checked the positions of his fleet. Braeden's ships were nearby, ready to make hyperspace jumps of his own, along with three of the ships he'd pulled in. Other ships were still on their way, but he didn't dare wait too long. The longer he left this battle, the more time Deucalion's forces would have to get things under control again, or to send out their own messages to control the narrative. Derek didn't like either option, but his plan involved the rebels starting the attack first. That first wave would give them a little bit longer for more of Derek's makeshift fleet to arrive, and then there was the possibility of some stragglers showing up during the battle to reinforce their numbers. 

He also considered the possibility that other ships nearby might hear his call and charge into the fray, whether out of nobility or because they were hoping for grand rewards. Of course, it was also possible that people might decide to reinforce his enemy. 

He had to take the chance. 

He sent the signal on the coded channel to Stilinski, warning him to prepare to jump, and then forced himself to wait an hour before hitting transmit on his recorded pronouncement. That hour, sitting on the bridge, hoping that everything was ready, was one of the most painful of his life. They couldn't move too quickly because of the distances involved, so military manoeuvres always felt like long, drawn-out periods of waiting for pieces to get into position and then the wild frenzy of danger and destruction. Derek hadn't seen much combat until the recent battle with Deucalion, but he found he didn't like waiting for the fight any more than he'd liked the terror of the fight itself. 

He couldn't even use the time for strategizing, because that had already been done, the plans and command signals sent to the other ships. If he went over the plans again now, he would find himself second-guessing all his decisions and wishing to change what couldn't be changed. 

"It'll be alright," Boyd said quietly, from his position as bodyguard, standing beside Derek's chair. Derek appreciated the attempt at reassurance, even though he had severe doubts that Boyd was right. 

At last, the timer alerted him that he had waited long enough. He sent the signal, broadcasting his message out to the galaxy, across tachyon networks that allowed all the worlds to hear his signals without the restrictions of the speed of light. Everyone would know of Deucalion's betrayal. The rebels would pick up the signal and know that the time had come to begin their attack. 

Assuming Stilinski kept up his end of the deal. 

"Launch probes," Derek ordered. 

"Aye, sir." 

The probes were unmanned craft that could make a short hyperspace jump and then transmit back to the ship what their sensors picked up, allowing Derek to see what was going on in the Coriolis system before he had to bring his ships in. By sending several, their data could be combined to take into account the time lag and give a clearer view of the system as a whole and the position of the spacecraft within it. 

A minute after his order, the various probes began their transmissions and a display in front of his chair showed a three dimensional projection of the system with glowing icons indicating the presence of ships and their expected trajectories. 

The probes were all approaching Coriolis base from different directions, so the middle of the display was still undefined, waiting from the signals to reach the probes at the speed of light. With each second that passed, the picture grew clearer. Derek could see the defensive platforms and patrol ships, which seemed to have been repaired since the earlier fight, and the great base at the centre of it all. 

There was no sign yet though of Stilinski's rebels. 

***

Stiles had been allowed out of bed on the understanding that if he so much as breathed too hard on the shuttle's flight controls, Melissa would drug him unconscious and keep him that way for a week. He was also not allowed to exert himself, but it was difficult to imagine how he could given that he was in a shuttle and that the space not taken up by the passenger seats was taken up by the medical bed he'd been wheeled in here on. 

He was on the ship with Melissa, Scott, and Kira. Stiles wasn't sure if Kira was here to guard him or because Derek had wanted to remove her from harm's way too, since she hadn't exactly volunteered for any of this. Or maybe Derek had thought Stiles would like to have more company of his own age. 

Stiles wasn't good company for anyone right now. He sat in the cockpit, watching the screens for any incoming signals, wondering what was happening out there in the rest of the galaxy. He wasn't thinking about trying to take control of this shuttle and fly to join the fight. For one thing, this shuttle didn't have the ability to make hyperspace jumps without assistance so it would take him about a week to get there, navigating to the nearest commercial jump point and then plotting a course. Derek had left him out in the middle of nowhere, or at least as close to nowhere as it was possible to get near the galactic core where systems and stars were much closer together than out towards the rim. That was probably meant for Stiles' protection, but it was also likely an element of Derek's thinking had revolved around making sure Stiles couldn't run after him. 

Stiles knew that Derek had dumped him out here to protect him, but he couldn't help resenting it anyway. He wasn't sure what good he might have been able to do on the warship with Derek, but it had to be more than he could do out here. 

So he sat there, fidgeting with the safety strap on his chair, worrying what might be happening. Was Derek dead? Was his dad dead? Had everything fallen apart? Or had it not even started yet? 

The comms console lit up with an incoming broadcast on the government frequency. Stiles activated it, seeing Derek's face on the screen calm and in control as he spoke about the attempt on his life. It was strange to watch him looking so serious and intent talking about trying to make the galaxy a better place for everyone. Not long ago, Stiles would have refused to believe it. He would have assumed Derek's words were lies and propaganda. Now, he knew better. He believed every word and he hoped that other people would believe him too. He hoped his dad was listening to this message, and not just using it as a signal to start the attack but actually paying attention to the words. Maybe he would realise that Derek really was trying to help people, and that if the rebels could work with Derek, they might achieve more than working against him. 

If Deucalion's forces could be stopped, they would have an opportunity to right the wrongs of the galaxy, to help the people who needed help and to make the corrupt and evil pay. He remembered all Derek's words about the issues of trying to fix the systems where problems were ingrained that trying to remove the corruption would cause the whole thing to collapse into chaos, but they could at least try. Assuming they came out of this in any position to try. 

Assuming they came out of this at all. 

And assuming that Derek would let Stiles back into his life to help him make these changes. Derek had made it clear that Stiles wasn't needed as a hostage anymore, so perhaps he would refuse to let Stiles back onto the ship. He might make it out to be a noble act, a way of protecting him from future harm, or he might be blunt and make it clear that he had no interest in keeping around an annoying kid who talked too much and had no filter on his opinions. 

Stiles tried to push those doubts aside, reminding himself that Derek had listened to his opinion, that Erica seemed to think Derek liked him. Maybe Derek would welcome him back with open arms. Stiles hoped so. He hoped so with such an intensity that the feeling seemed likely to take physical form and burst out of his chest. He wanted to stay with Derek because he liked Derek, despite everything. 

"Your dad will be alright," Scott said, coming into the cockpit and taking the seat beside Stiles'. He must have misread the concern on Stiles' face. Partial misread it, at least, because the fear for his dad was there among all the other worries churning away inside him. 

"Thanks," Stiles said. Hearing Scott's reassurance didn't convince him of anything, but it was still nice that someone cared enough to say it. 

Scott clearly didn't know what to add and Stiles didn't have anything to say either, so they sat together in uncomfortable silence, watching the screens for some news about what was happening out there. 

When the screens finally did light up again, it was with an alert Stiles hadn't expected. He sat up sharply, checking the readouts again to be sure. 

"Ships jumping into the sector," he said. "Three of them." 

No one knew where they were. Well, no one except Derek. Who the hell would be jumping into this unremarkable patch of nowhere? 

Stiles fired up one of the displays, trying to get a reading from the ships that wasn't overwhelmed by the rush of energy from the jump engines and distorted by the rapid deceleration. 

"Are we under attack?" Scott asked. Kira and Melissa poked their heads in from the back of the shuttle as Stiles was still trying to clear up the displays. 

"I don't know," Stiles said. He frowned as the images became clearer and he began to see the shape of the ships, older models, with mismatching patches of repair work on their hulls, and in one case thrusters of the wrong size of the ship's structure. It was the sort of cobbled together mess that he'd been so used to because rebels couldn't exactly order replacement parts on the open market. 

"I think they're rebel ships," he said, and one of the ships finally swung about and Stiles got a view of the markings on one side. It was Deliverance, one of the fighters his father had commanded. His dad must have known Derek would leave him behind and worked out where Stiles would be from where his own shuttle had been released. But why send these ships to get him? Surely every fighter the rebels had at their disposal would be needed in the fight against Deucalion's forces. Why send these ships to fetch Stiles? And why three of them? That was overkill to say the least. 

If this was his dad's way of showing his protective streak, Stiles would chew him a new one because these fighters ought to have been helping Derek. 

Stiles guessed he'd get his chance soon enough to lecture whoever was commanding these ships. The one that had swung about was opening a shuttle port in its side, an invitation for the shuttle to come on board.


	51. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, this fic becomes my second longest on AO3. Still so much plot to come. 
> 
> Enjoy today's instalment of unanswered questions. :)

Stiles guided the shuttle in to dock and killed the engines, but before he could rush out there and demand to know what the hell the ships were doing here instead of taking part in the fight, Melissa caught his arm. 

"You still need to be careful," she told him. "I want to put a monitor on your if you're going to be moving about." 

She pushed him down to sit on the medical bed and opened up a compartment beneath it, digging around through the equipment until she found a health monitor. Stiles had thought he was done with having things strapped to him and monitoring him, but he lifted up his shirt so she could strap the band around his chest so that it could track his breathing and heart rate, his temperature and probably a few dozen other things. Given that he'd nearly died recently, he didn't feel in a position to argue with Melissa about this. 

So it was Scott who went to the back of the shuttle and started the air checks to unlock the hatch. It was Scott who opened it up and stepped outside. 

Stiles was still sitting on the medical bed in front of Melissa when he heard and unfamiliar voice saying, "You must be Stiles." 

That didn't make any sense because if these ships had come from his dad, he would have sent people who knew Stiles, or at least knew of him enough to know instantly that Scott wasn't him. The machine in Melissa's hand instantly showed an increase in heart rate as the fear rose in place of the anger he'd been feeling moments before. 

"Who are you? What's with all the guns?" Scott spoke in a slightly louder than necessary voice, no doubt intending for his voice to carry inside the shuttle as a warning. He then added, "And where's my dad?" no doubt intending to let them know that he was going to play along with the mistake. 

"Your father had another appointment to keep," the voice said. 

Stiles was instantly berating himself for going to the ship so easily, for not demanding identity verification via comms. He'd just seen a rebel ship and not even questioned it. He had more than enough questions now though. If rebel ships were here, controlled by a stranger, what did that mean about his dad? Was the appointment the battle with Derek, or an ominous reference to an early death? 

He didn't have time to ask any of his questions though because the voice outside said, "Keep those hands where we can see them. Search the shuttle. There should be a guard and a medic on board." The voice rose in volume. "And they'd better not try anything foolish or the medic won't be able to patch the holes in Stiles." 

Melissa's eyes were full of panic at the thought of what that man out there might do to Scott, but she was already moving, crouching down to pull more equipment out of the compartment under the bed. Stiles couldn't imagine what she thought she might find that would be useful in this situation, but then she was grabbing his arm, pulling him off the bed, and he understood. 

They had seconds for Stiles to cram himself into the compartment. Stiles couldn't even argue that it ought to be Kira hiding, because they didn't seem to know about her, because the people outside might hear and anyway she was already over by the hatch. Stiles forced his body into the tiny hole and Melissa closed the compartment, plunging him into darkness. 

Something jammed into his back and his knees were pressed into his chest, legs bent awkwardly. His arms were right up against the edges of the compartment and he didn't dare move so much as a muscle twitch in case he knocked into something still in here and made a noise. His mind was racing, trying to understand what this might mean and what the hell he was supposed to do now. Who was out there? What did they want with him? 

There was a flurry of movement from the other side of the door, with voices given orders to show hands and not try anything. 

"What should we do with them?" Stiles heard a woman asked, her voice sounding muffled though the compartment door. 

"A good medic is always useful," the first speaker answered. "As for the guard... she might have information on Hale." 

It seemed whoever was out there had bought the ruse that Scott was Stiles and Kira was the one sent to guard him. Whoever was out there obviously didn't know much about Stiles and he presumably only had limited information about the decisions made on Derek's ship. The fact that he'd known something was still worrying, especially since he'd known enough to find Stiles here. Either someone on the ship had talked, in which case the fact they didn't know about Kira was odd, or Stiles' dad had talked. That was even more worrying. 

More footsteps and noises of movement, then someone asked, "What about this lot?" 

"Have someone from medical come down and do an inventory. No sense letting it go to waste." 

The footsteps moved away and Stiles could hear nothing but his own panicked breathing. Terror and confusion warred inside him as he strained his ears, trying to pick up any more sounds from outside either in the shuttle or in the docking bay. If he tried to climb out too soon, there might still be people around and then Melissa's ploy would be discovered. But if he waited too long, whoever was sent from medical was bound to want to look inside the compartment and then he'd be caught anyway. 

He tried to stay calm and counted to twenty in his head, listening all the while. When no sounds came through that count, he decided to try moving. He managed to twist his arm out from where it was jammed against the compartment door, so he could push the door sideways and force it to open. He had very little leverage but he was able to inch the door open a little at a time until there was a gap large enough for his shoulder to slip out. Then he could push against the door more easily and he toppled out into a heap on the shuttle's floor. 

A device lay on the floor beside him, its screen showing his health stats, still being picked up from the band around his chest. He didn't dare pause to pull the thing off, so he just pocketed the device so that no one noticed there was an active monitor running. 

He crept to the shuttle hatch and paused there, listening again, before slipping outside, peering about for any guards or any sign of anyone. His dad would have left someone watching the shuttle, or at least had it searched for traps. Either the guy here wasn't as smart as Stiles' dad or he didn't have enough people. Either was a good sign for Stiles. 

The docking bay was mostly empty, with just one other old craft docked beside the one Stiles had been in. This was Deliverance, he was sure of it, a ship Stiles knew if not well. The fact that a stranger was apparently in command of one of his father's rebel ships was worrying, but it meant that Stiles knew where to go. Deliverance had been built out of the wreckage of two other ships, with a few spare parts added where necessary to make the craft stable. The upshot of that was that the corridors and access hatches in one part of the ship hadn't always lined up to those in the adjoining part. The place was a maze, with new hatchways and access doors being built through from one part to another to let people get about. 

Stiles ignored the main entrance to the docking bay and went to a hatchway in the middle of the floor. He opened the air seals and lifted the hatch, checking below before lowering himself through and dropping down to the corridor below. The hatch above him closed with a clang that was louder than he would have liked, before sealing itself up again with a hiss, but no one came running to investigate the noise, which was yet another piece of evidence for this ship being understaffed. 

He couldn't rely on that forever though. Sooner or later, someone would stumble across him and then this was all over. He needed to get a weapon. He needed to figure out what was going on and who the hell was in charge around here. He needed to figure out where the others were likely to be held. And he had to do all of that without getting caught himself. 

He started along the corridor, already thinking. Deliverance didn't have an official brig or prison cells since rebels didn't general take prisoners. There had to be somewhere else that could be secured. Most of the doors and hatches could be sealed, an especially important precaution on a ship as messed up as Deliverance, but Stiles doubted the people here would just put Scott and the others into crew quarters the way Derek had. The testing rooms were the obvious guess. One of the dead ships that had been pillaged to create Deliverance had been a science vessel that had met an unfortunate fate, but one of the chunks that had remained in good enough condition to use contained a series of small rooms that had once been used for scientific experiments. Each of them had a door that could be sealed from the outside and an observation window through which the scientists had once watched the results. Those rooms could be used to house prisoners and allow captors to watch them or make sure they weren't about to launch an ambush from the other side of a closed door. It wasn't quite as secure as the cells back on Derek's ship but those rooms were probably the best that could be found on this ship. 

Now Stiles just had to remember the way. 

He made a few wrong turns and once had to sprint back the way he'd come when he heard footsteps approaching. He wedged himself into a corner where two pieces of wall had been welded together awkwardly, a hand over his mouth to try and make his breathing quieter, while his heart hammering in his chest and his lungs felt like they were burning. He remembered Melissa's warnings about taking things easy and decided not to look at the monitor in his pocket which was probably berating him for those few metres of running. 

He waited there for his heart and breathing to return to normal levels and then set off again, trying to keep his pace slower. This was taking much longer than he would have liked because he kept stopping to hide and had to take a circuitous route that avoided any places where there were likely to be too many people. He had to detour to avoid engineering, but he did find an emergency kit which held some basic tools. No weapons, unfortunately, but he might be able to do some damage with a well-placed screwdriver. He slung the emergency kit over his back and kept moving. 

He tried not to think about what might be happening to his friends while he wandered all over the maze of a ship trying to reach them, but he knew that he had to be careful. He wouldn't do Scott and the others any good if he got captured. 

His chest was aching again by the time he finally reached the right level for the testing rooms. He waited again for footsteps and people to pass, two unfamiliar voices chatting calmly. 

"... sure Stilinski meant it," one said, "but who knows what Hale was able to do to him. I mean, just look at what was in that lab." 

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Might not even have been Stilinski." 

Then the two were past Stiles' hiding place and walking further into the ship. A part of him desperately wanted to follow, wanted to know whatever they knew about his dad, but he knew that would be courting disaster. If he tried to follow close enough to eavesdrop, there would be no way to avoid being seen. He had to let them go. He could find answers once he had found the others. 

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he started moving again, heading to the first of the testing rooms. He peered through the observation window and saw a dark, empty room, so he hurried to the next. 

In the third, he finally saw someone, but it wasn't Scott. He was about the same age as them though, dark-haired and strangely familiar. Stiles paused beside the window, trying to place the guy, for long enough that the guy in question noticed and turned to glare at him. It was that glare that made the pieces snap into place and Stiles knew who he was looking at, though how he could be here and how he could look so much younger were questions he didn't have answers for yet. 

"Derek?" Stiles asked.


	52. Chapter 46

"Do I know you?" the guy in the testing room asked, still glaring out through the observation window. 

"I guess not," said Stiles. His mind was racing. This was obviously another situation like with Cora. After all, if Deucalion could clone Derek's sister, why couldn't he clone Derek himself? The fact that this Derek looked like a teenager was probably because even clones needed time to grow up. Deucalion might have done something to accelerate growth, but if the Derek clone had started at the same time as the Cora clone, that would fit the age of the guy in front of Stiles now. It also explained why Deucalion had tried to use Cora instead of Derek's clone, because there was no way anyone would be fooled by this guy replacing Derek. 

But how was he here? Had whoever was running this ship been working with Deucalion? Or had these people raided Deucalion's research facility and found this younger Derek? Stiles couldn't help thinking of the snippet of conversation he'd overheard about the lab. 

"Are you just going to stand there?" the younger Derek asked. 

"That depends," Stiles answered. "Whoever's running this ship just took my friends prisoner. If I let you out, will you help me find them?" 

He wasn't sure if he could trust this fake Derek, especially if he'd been created by Deucalion, but automatically hating him because he was a clone was too much like hating someone for how they were born. Being part of Deucalion's plot wasn't exactly his fault. If this guy was a prisoner here, he might have information about whoever was in charge or what the hell was going on, and Stiles desperately wanted that. He felt like he was floundering in a sea of ignorance, desperately groping for some hint of knowledge to make this all come clear. 

Fake Derek frowned at him through the window. "You called me Derek. You know the overlord well enough to use his first name?" 

He seemed very suspicious about that, but Stiles didn't think he would be very believable if he tried to deny it now, so he went with the honest approach. 

"He's my friend," Stiles said. "Sort of." 

It was hard to know what he was to Derek, so he left it at that. He wasn't sure how Fake Derek would react to that, but he didn't seem happy about it. If he was cloned by Deucalion as part of some evil plot, it was hard to imagine what he might have been told about Derek, but Stiles would be willing to bet that it wasn't anything good. 

"Your friends who are prisoners here?" Fake Derek asked. "Is he one of them?" 

"No." 

Fake Derek considered this some more. 

"I'll help you," he said. 

Stiles wasn't sure he trusted that decision. It was likely that Fake Derek just wanted to use him to get out of the room and entirely possible that he intended to stab him in the back as soon as he was out of here, so Stiles said, "Be warned, if you try anything to hurt me, I have a screwdriver and I'm not afraid to use it." 

Fake Derek raised an eyebrow in an amused-and-questioning way that was so like the real Derek that it sent a jolt through Stiles. He tried not to think about that. Had Fake Derek been taught to mimic the real Derek's mannerisms in case he ever needed to take over the throne as Deucalion's puppet? Or was expressing through the eyebrows something written into his DNA? 

Either way, Stiles made sure he had a good hold on his screwdriver before he went to the door controls. Thankfully, though the testing rooms could be sealed from the outside, they weren't linked to any complicated locking system. Stiles was able to open the door easily enough and he backed away, raising the screwdriver in front of him like a weapon, as fake Derek emerged. 

Watching him warily, Stiles started down the rest of the run of testing rooms, checking the windows for the others but the rooms were all empty. He wondered if Fake Derek would have any ideas on where to find them. 

"Do you have a name?" Stiles asked. "I keep calling you 'Fake Derek' in my head but I can't do that forever." 

"The general calls me Bee." 

"Bee? As in the annoying insect or as in the letter B?" 

"The letter." Bee didn't seem at all offended by this. "My sisters are A and C." 

"That's awful, to be given a label inste-" Stiles barely began his incensed rant about the inhumanity of referring to people by the letters of the alphabet when his mind caught up with the rest of what Derek had said. "Wait, did you say sisters? As in plural?" 

Bee didn't answer, but Stiles knew what he'd heard. So Cora hadn't been the only other person cloned. Was there another Cora wandering around? Other Dereks? Or was there another sister who had been cloned? 

"How many clones are there?" Stiles asked. Bee didn't answer that either. Stiles settled for trying something more practical, something that might illicit an answer. "Have you got any guesses where my friends might be being held?" It was clear they were nowhere near here. 

"There's a workshop near engineering," Bee said. "It's meant for repairs but a lot of the equipment can be used for... punishments. If they want to hurt your friends, they could be there." 

Something about the way he said punishments made Stiles think that his knowledge was more than just hypothetical. Much as he didn't trust this Fake Derek an inch, he couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for him. There was no knowing what cruel training or brain-washing he'd been subjected to. But if he followed that though to its conclusion, then Cora had just been a victim too and maybe she hadn't deserved to die like that on Coriolis. Stiles tried to push that thought aside. Right now, he had to focus on getting out of here, finding his friends, and figuring out what the hell was going on. Not necessarily in that order. 

"How long have you been on this ship?" Stiles asked, because Bee seemed to be following Stiles' lead about the direction they should take, even though Bee had been the one to pick their destination. He probably hadn't had much chance to wander round and explore the weird quirks of the ship's layout. 

"A few days," Bee said. 

"Where were you before that?" 

"The lab." 

Not a lab, Stiles noted, but the lab, as though it was the only one that mattered. To Bee, it probably was, if that was where he was created. He probably hadn't seen much of the galaxy at all. 

"Well, we'll find my friends," Stiles said, "and then figure out a way off this ship and you can go somewhere you choose." 

"Your friend," Bee spat the word like an insult, "the overlord isn't going to just let me go free. I'm a threat to him. He should kill me." 

"He doesn't kill innocent people," Stiles said. "He especially doesn't kill kids." 

Bee was probably physically close to the same age as Stiles, perhaps a year or so younger, but it was hard to think of him as anything but a kid when Stiles compared him to the real Derek. 

"He should kill me," Bee said. "I'm his enemy. If he lets me live then that's a weakness. Uncle Peter always said he didn't have the strength to lead properly." 

Stiles stumbled and nearly walked face-first into a support strut. There was something about the way that Bee had quoted one of Peter Hale's lessons that was so familiar it made his stomach churn, but that wasn't what had caused him to falter. It was the fact that Bee had not only known Peter Hale to hear those same lessons that had twisted Derek's thinking, but that he'd known him well enough to call him Uncle Peter. Stiles had assumed that the clones were Deucalion's plot, something done behind Peter's back just as it had been behind Derek's, but what if that wasn't the case at all? What if Peter had been trying to grow a new heir because he hadn't been satisfied with Derek? What if Bee and Cora and whoever the other sister Bee had mentioned was, were all part of Peter's plot? 

Bee gave him one of those eyebrows-scrunched-together looks that was part concern, part confusion, and part amusement. Stiles pulled himself together and got on with leading the way back towards the repair labs near engineering. 

"Peter Hale was an evil bastard filled to the brim with cruelty, without a trace of empathy in his body," Stiles said, "and he was frequently wrong. He cared more about his own selfish goals and helping out his cronies than he did about the people he was supposed to govern. Derek is ten times the ruler Peter Hale ever was and he's getting better by the day now that he's stopped quoting your uncle's lessons every ten minutes and started thinking for himself. You're better off forgetting everything he ever taught you." 

"He wouldn't be happy if I forgot his lessons," Bee said. "He'll punish me." 

"The bastard's dead. He's not going to punish you ever again." 

"He's dead?" Bee asked, delight and surprise in his voice. He sounded like someone who'd just seen a miracle happen. Stiles tried not to think about what sort of punishments he must have doled out to cause such an expression of relief at the news of his death. It was astonishing that Bee didn't know after all this time, but if he'd been kept imprisoned in a lab, his captors had probably controlled what sort of information he had access to. Deucalion had probably held the spectre of Peter and punishments over Bee's head to control him. 

"Yeah," Stiles said. "He's dead and good riddance to him. The universe is a much better place with him gone." 

Stiles would have loved to give Bee specific details on how it had happened, but he didn't know a great deal about the how of it all. The official news reports had kept the story short and vague, focusing on the glorious rise of the new overlord rather than the tragic demise of the previous one. The funeral ceremonies, which had gone on for three days, had included lots of tedious speeches about Peter Hale's great deeds and achievements, but no one had gone into the grisly details of his death, probably because people like Stiles would have enjoyed it too much. Or maybe his death had been part of some plot and no one had wanted to give credit in case it inspired other people to rise up. 

The journey back to engineering slowed down considerably as they got closer and even Stiles was forced to give up any attempt at conversation. There were more people around and they were forced to frequently double back or take cover to avoid being seeing. All this exercise was making Stiles' chest ache again but he tried not to show it. He thought he caught Bee giving him concerned looks anyway. That was reassuring at least. Unless he was only concerned that Stiles wouldn't be able to keep up the next time they had to run and hide. 

The people they glimpsed weren't wearing any formal uniform, but Stiles thought that one or two of the faces looked familiar. He hoped that these people hadn't been part of his dad's rebellion because that made this situation feel even more like a betrayal, but he supposed it was likely some of them had been given the ship they were on. Maybe the rebels had had a schism after Stiles' dad turned himself in and this was one a faction who felt they'd been betrayed. That might explain why they'd target him. 

When they reached a final corner, Bee reached out and grabbed Stiles, pulling him to a halt. Stiles couldn't hear anything up ahead, but he followed Bee's lead and peeked carefully around the edge of the wall. There were guards up ahead, standing in front of an otherwise normal door. In some ways, this was a good sign because it meant they were probably in the right place. On the other hand, there were guards and Stiles suspected his heart might explode or his lungs shrivel up if he tried to fight. 

"Know any good distractions?" Stiles asked in a whisper. Bee fixed him with a silent stare, which Stiles took to be a no. 

He tried to think of something. In adventure shows, there was always a uniform to be stolen, with a conveniently face-covering helmet, that could be used as a disguise. But the guards here weren't wearing helmets. 

What were their options? They could try to fight, which Stiles suspected would just end up with him getting pummelled and captured. They could try to lure the guards away, but it would have to be pretty convincing and alert anyone else to their presence. Or they could try and find a way around the guards. 

Stiles looked at the screwdriver in his hand, trying to remember the layout of this ship. It was possible. 

He caught Bee's sleeve and silently tugged him back the way they'd come, up an access ladder to the deck above, and then through into the main life support control terminal, which was an offshoot from engineering. Thankfully, no one was in here working maintenance at the moment. Stiles was grateful for the apparent short staffing of the crew. 

"What are you doing?" Bee asked. 

"This section is almost directly above where you think my friends are. There's a chance that when the rebels were putting this ship together from the pieces that someone decided to use a shortcut for the air processing and, instead of working it into the main system, they just linked it directly to the pumps." 

"Isn't that extremely unsafe and against regulations?" 

Stiles couldn't help but smile at that. "This ship is made of halves of two complete different, mismatching ships welded together. There is nothing on this mess that would be considered safe." 

He rounded one of the pumps, the huge machines the filled most of the space like skulking monsters, and saw what he was looking for. A tube of metal emerged for the pump and was fed through the floor, going through a square of decking that was significantly less sturdy than the squares around it, because someone had replaced the panel with a material that they could cut through for the tubing. It was sealed to the rest of the decking, but with the quick sealant glue that was used for short-term fixes on interior holes. Presumably someone had intended to replace this with a more permanent solution at some point, but then been called off to repair one of the floating scrap piles that the rebels called ships. 

Stiles crouched down to the floor, set his screwdriver against the line of sealant and started scraping. 

"Keep a look out," Stiles told Bee, not liking that he was focused on the floor while Bee was standing over him, but not seeing that he had any other choice. Bee hadn't tried to hurt him so far and he probably wanted off this ship as much as Stiles did, especially now that he'd learned how dangerous it was. 

He kept scraping, working his way along one side, then another. It seemed to take forever and he wasn't able to get all of the stuff out of the join between the panels. He just had to hope it would be enough. When he'd cleared most of the sealant out, he forced the end of the screwdriver into the join and started levering. 

He heaved, pushing his weight against the screwdriver handle, but he started to think the screwdriver would give before the panel would. His arms certainly might. 

"Let me help," Bee said, coming to crouch beside him. He put his hand over Stiles' and add his strength, leaning his weight into pushing on the screwdriver. 

Stiles tried not to think about how weird it was that he was here in this intimate position, hands pressed together, with someone who was biologically the same as Derek. He couldn't help wishing it was his Derek who was beside him now, but Bee's help did the trick. The sealant snapped and the panel lifted up so suddenly that Stiles nearly fell over. 

Setting the screwdriver down, Stiles eased the panel up, and looked down into the room below. He got a view of Scott strapped down on some sort of workbench, with a man standing over him. It was a man who's face Stiles knew, even though he'd never seen it in person. Everyone in the empire knew that face, but Stiles couldn't understand what it was doing here and now. The impossibility of it was worse than seeing Bee in the testing room. 

"You said he was dead," Derek whispered in Stiles' ear. 

"He's supposed to be," Stiles whispered back, still staring down at the apparently alive and well Peter Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a tiny hint at this twist in the previous chapter and I desperately wanted to ask if anyone had picked up on it, but didn't want to ask in case I gave it away because it was too good a twist to spoil. 
> 
> And, yeah, there's a reason I've been avoiding answering all the comments asking what happened to Peter.


	53. Chapter 47

Derek was starting to despair when the ships finally appeared. One came in from a hyperspace jump, Derek's instruments blinded by the energy dump, and a moment later he was even more blind as half his probes shut down and the display of the sytem vanished in places. He was left in confusion as to what had happened, what had gone wrong, and that initial despair was joined by the sense that this was doomed to failure if they couldn't even get remote probes to operate correctly. But not everyone had such a bleak assessment of the situation. 

"Directed EM pulse," Lydia said, looking at their system map with its sudden holes in with an impressed smile. 

This was the rebel's attack. The first ship into the system had launched a pulse weapon to disorientate and disable the enemy. The effects wouldn't last long, but it should be long enough to throw whoever was in charge on the station off guard for a few minutes and that ought to be long enough for the rebels to do serious damage. Derek hadn't realised that the rebels would have weapons like that. Presumably they didn't have many or they would have used them before now. Or perhaps they'd been holding back on these weapons because such a strong element of surprise could only be acheived once. Either way, this was a sign that Stilinski was throwing his all into this fight. 

At least, Derek assumed he was. It was difficult to tell since his display of the Coriolis system was missing huge chunks. Large patches of his 3D representation were just empty space that could be hiding anything, and most of his probles were too far away from the action to give accurate position information on the ships. Derek was frustrated that he now didn't have a clear way of tracking what was happening since half his probes were out, but as the others did their best to fill in the blanks and the holes gradually started to shrink as signals reached the more distant probes, he was comforted to know that the pulse had probably been worse for the Coriolis base and its defensive ships who had been directly within the aim of the pulse. 

As the display gradually returned, he could see new ships in the system, working on the outskirts of the defences. They fired weapons and dodged the returning fire that was starting up again from a few of the defence systems as they came back online. One ship spun and opened a cargo hold, letting loose a mass of small objects that were too many and too little to be easily picked off by the lasers. Each of those little objects impacted with another mini EM pulse and a small explosion. 

There were only five rebel fighters on his display and Derek couldn't help wondering how Stilinski had caused such problems for him if this was the limit of the fleet he could muster, but the fact was that those five ships were doing a surprising amount of damage. They were also dodging about all over the place, which met the goal of forcing the Coriolis base to spread out their response. 

The base defences were too strong for the rebels to break through with only five ships. Shielding, mines, the laser platforms, and the short range fighters were all recovering from the initial EM pulse and now it was starting to look like the rebels were done for. If Derek let this carry on, those five ships would be blown out of the sky. 

"Signal the fleet to jump," Derek ordered. 

"Yes, sir." 

Derek felt the lurch of the jump, but with nothing like the impact of the previous one. He felt his stomach twist inside him but he was able to breathe through it for the minutes it took to transition from one point of the galaxy to another. He kept his eyes fixed on the display of the battle until the ship emerged in the Coriolis system, Braedan's ships and the others in formation around him. 

"Fire at will." 

The weapons systems had been prepared for this as well as they were able and Derek had barely finished giving the order when the ship's guns opened fire, and half the compliment of missiles were launched, blasting a path of through the outer defences, even before the aiming was back to full resolution. They gave the enemy no chance to adjust before they began the assault. Some of the weapons would miss, but they would keep on going, towards the great bulk of the Coriolis base behind the targeted items, so even the misses could do damage. That first assault was only the start, since the laser platforms could reposition themselves and were now firing at his little fleet. 

Derek sent out another prepared message, calling the soldiers on Coriolis base to surrender to their rightful overlord, but it didn't seem to have any effect on the fire that was being returned towards them. Derek felt the impacts of weapons vibrating through his seat, despite the pilot's best efforts to dodge the worst of it. 

A signal appeared on comms and Derek answered, leaving the crew to deal with the specific details of the battle. Each of them, concentrating on their own specialist area, could probably manage better than Derek trying to control the details for them. The comm link established and Stilinski's face showed on Derek's screen. 

"Sorry I wasn't able to bring as many ships as I'd hoped," Stilinski said. "In my absense, the rebels have had some changes in leadership so I couldn't just order my people to join me. It was difficult to persuade people to fight for you." 

This was a problem Derek supposed he should have predicted. Of course someone else would have taken over the leadership of the rebels since Derek had taken Stilinski captive. That new leader probably wasn't happy about having the old one try to take control back. On top of that, the structure of the rebels might look like a military operation, but these people were by definition the sort who questioned authority, so Stilinski couldn't expect to just tell them what to do when it went against everything they'd previously fought for. He wondered what percentage of the rebels this handful of ships comprised, but he supposed that didn't matter right now. 

"I'm glad you could bring some," was what he said. "Form up with my ships to blast a hole through the defences." 

Stilinski acknowledged the order and relayed it to his ships. On Derek's display, the scattered fighters came together into a single group where they would have less chance of being picked off one by one. 

"I did manage to get the boarding ship," Stilinski added. 

Derek nodded. "Bring your ship alongside mine and transfer the boarding ship across." 

Moving a shuttle or small craft from one ship to another in the middle of battle wasn't exactly ideal, since the ships would need to keep their relative motion minimal to allow the pilot to navigation between the two docking bays and prevent the craft slamming into the walls of the docking bay thanks to a sudden shift in momentum. It would leave a short window when they were more vulnerable because the pilots on either ship wouldn't be able to dodge any incoming weapons, but it had to be done. This mission required Derek to send his own people. He couldn't ask the rebels to attempt such a dangerous task as infiltrating Coriolis base and he suspected most of the rebels wouldn't agree to it anyway. He was lucky that so many had agreed to help this much, going from what Stilinski had said. 

He was also willing to admit at least to himself that there was a hint of doubt in the back of his mind that if a group of rebel fighters did manage to take the base that they'd be all that happy about handing it over to him once all this was over. No, it was better that he send in his own fighters, led by those he trusted. 

Boyd and Erica would be leading the assault teams, assuming they managed to send two. He'd wanted to go himself but Lydia had been the one to point out that was a terrible idea. Yes, he had some combat training but it wasn't at the same level as the others and it would be a huge risk to put the overlord on the front lines of an infiltration team. Besides, she'd point out, he would need to be here to coordinate the ships. So he was forced to send people he cared about on a mission that was incredibly dangerous and all he could do was sit and hope that they would be safe. 

Not that it would be much safer out here. 

On his display, one of the rebel ships took a blast to the engine and warning notifications on the display told of an impending overload. The rebel ship managed one last blast from a thrust to direct its course towards a weapons platform, and then the two went off in an explosion that took out three of Deucalion's one-man fighters. 

Derek wondered how many people had been on board that rebel ship. Had they been people Stilinski had known well? People he cared about as much as Derek cared about Boyd and Erica? 

Watching the cloud of debris spreading out on the display, Derek came to the conclusion that he wasn't cut out for warfare. He suspected that the only way to do well in a situation like this was to think like Peter, to think of people as tools, as pieces on a chess board to be moved into position for the best strategic advantage. When he thought of them as people, as human beings with lives and dreams and goals and families, it became very difficult to do anything but freeze, staring at the horror of destruction that was happening all around him, after that any order, any move he tried to make, would just make the whole situation worse. 

But he couldn't afford to freeze. Stilinski's ship had come alongside his and was preparing to launch the boarding craft. Derek send Boyd and Erica to the docking bay and ordered the pilot to make it as simple as possible for the craft to dock without getting them blown up in the meantime. 

He sent a warning to Braeden about what was going to happen and her ships moved into a rough sphere around the two of them, driving back the fighters and blasting at the weapons platforms to try and give them the breathing space for this manuovre. Not that he felt like he'd be able to breathe until this was over. 

The pilot brought the ships so close together that warning alarms started to sound and Derek brought up the docking bay cameras on his display so he could watch the great doors open, Stilinski's ship so close on the other side that it blocked out the view of space through the opening. The ship shook violently as a missile made it through Braeden's ring of defences and impacted somewhere in their stern. 

It occurred to Derek that if Stilinski intended to betray him, this would be the perfect moment to do so. There wasn't time to properly search or scan the boarding craft to check it for weapons, so a pilot could bring it on board, full of explosives, and tear a huge hole in the side of Derek's ship from inside the hull, so long as the pilot didn't mind dying in the fireball too. He doubted Stilinski would do something like that, partly because he was a man of honour, but also because Derek doubted Stilinski would risk the possibility that Derek hadn't moved Stiles to safety the way he'd said he would. No, Stilinski would do whatever he could to protect this ship until he could be sure that Stiles wasn't still on board it. 

And that was even in the cynical case where Stilinski still thought of him as an enemy. He still felt hope that Stilinski's opinion of him had changed on that front. After all, Stiles could be very persuasive. 

It didn't stop Derek feeling a sense of relief when the boarding craft docked with no sign of a hidden threat and he saw the first assault team get on board, with Boyd at their head. Erica waited in the docking bay with the second team. Derek turned his attention away from the view on his screen to send a message to the other ships: they needed to get in close to the station. 

The boarding point was not being chosen based on any great strategy, but would be picked based on the location they could first get close to the station and stay still long enough for the small craft to leave the docking bay without them all getting blown to pieces. They would then have the task of protecting the ship while it latched on to the station's hull and began the task of cutting through. They couldn't hope to do this without drawing attention, so Boyd's team would no doubt face a prepared defence by the time the hull was breached. 

Even as his fleet pushed their attack, Derek once again felt the urge to change his orders, to pull Boyd back and prioritise protecting his friend over the strategy of the mission. He held himself back from that impulse, even though he couldn't help wondering if Peter, whatever Stiles or the rebels might have thought of him, wouldn't have done a better job if he'd been here. He felt guilty for the thought, but it slipped through his mind anyway. Maybe it was possible that to do a job well, a leader sometimes had to be a little ruthless. Caring made the whole thing a lot more difficult. 

His ship poured power into the weapons and charged forward, Braeden's ships on either ship and the military ships fanning out further, so that they formed an arrow point cutting through the defenses, breaking formation on occasion to avoid a counterattack, before falling back into position. 

Stilinski's ship had fallen back and for a moment Derek thought the man was protecting himself, but then he saw Stilinski take down some of the smaller fighter craft that had been coming round to attack the arrow formation from behind. It still felt that their ships were outnumbered, especially as Derek's force plunged straight towards the Coriolis base and the centre of this mass of military armament, but it was good to know that there was someone there watching his back, even if it was someone who, only a few weeks ago, he never would have expected to be on his side.


	54. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, here are some answers. Some starts of answers anyway. Some ans. :)

Scott's head shifted on the table slightly and he caught sight of Stiles up above him. For a moment, their eyes met and Stiles was filled with terror that Peter would look round to see what he was looking at. Stiles pointed at Peter and then opened and closed his hand a couple of times, miming talking, and then lowered the panel back down over the hole. If Peter did look up, it wouldn't do to be caught staring down from the ceiling at him. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice the narrow crack Stiles left open to listen. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Scott asked. 

"Now why would I tell you a thing like that?" Peter asked, his voice calm. "And I thought you were supposed to be smart." 

Presumably he still thought Scott was Stiles. He wasn't sure if the others were in that room with them and he didn't dare poke his head through the hole to find out. 

"How do you even know about me?" Scott asked. 

"Information is key. I would have thought you would understand that." 

He obviously knew enough about Stiles to know the role he'd played as Derek's researcher, but he didn't know what Stiles looked like, which again raised questions about how Peter was getting his information. It was unlikely that he'd still got remote access into the warship's systems or he would presumably have had access to the security feeds. Unless he had some hacking device only in a specific system, perhaps feeding information about library access, but that wouldn't give Peter enough information to form a solid picture of Stiles, especially given the amount of reading he did for his own interest on every topic under the sun. The more likely explanation was that someone on the warship was feeding information to Peter. A person would be able to send updates about Stiles and the research projects, as well as the plan to dump Stiles off the ship before the battle. Derek had a spy on his ship, and Stiles couldn't even begin to guess who it might be. 

"How are you even alive?" Scott asked, still clearly following Stiles' instruction to make Peter talk however reluctant Peter might be to do so. "You were declared dead." 

"It's surprisingly easy to be declared dead when you have access to a body that shares your DNA, and Deucalion's machinations supplied me with that." 

That was interesting. That Deucalion had apparently cloned Peter as well as Derek and the others was probably not that strange, but the word Peter had used to describe it suggested that Deucalion had been working without Peter's involvement. Peter wouldn't have called it machinations if Deucalion had been working on his orders. Or perhaps cloning Derek and Cora had been on Peter's orders, but the cloning of Peter was something Deucalion had done under his own initiative. Either way, Peter had learned of it and then used his clone to fake his own death. The question was... 

"Why?" Scott asked. "Why pretend to be dead?" 

"I would have thought that was obvious. The number of people trying to kill me has dramatically reduced now that everyone thinks I'm dead. A position in the background may be much more conducive to a long life and I can still pluck the strings of control from here." 

"But you can't control things from the shadows if everyone in charge thinks you're dead. You haven't been near the warship in years and Derek's been making his own decisions. You're not controlling anything." 

There was a pause and Stiles was tempted to lift up the panel again to see what was going on below. He resisted the urge. 

"I'm disappointed in you," Peter said at last. "I expected you to be more intelligent than this. No matter. I'm sure you can be useful nonetheless." 

There was the sound of footsteps and then the sliding open and closed of a door. Stiles waited a moment, worrying that maybe the noise hadn't been Peter leaving after all. He might have just been opening a storeroom to get a torture implement. Acting incautiously could get them all killed. 

But then Scott called out a nervous, "Stiles?" 

Stiles took that as a sign things were safe below and he lifted the panel. Scott was still on the table below but there was no sign of Peter Hale. Stiles slid his legs through the hole and lowered his body down until he could drop to the floor without hurting himself. He looked around, seeing the old workshop with various tools and equipment. A lot of it could probably cause a lot of pain if applied to a human body, but it didn't seem like Scott had been hurt yet. At least, there were no visible injuries. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, hurrying to the table and starting to unfasten the restraints that held Scott in place. 

"I'm OK," Scott started. "Where's my mom and Kira?" 

"Haven't found them yet." He'd been hoping that they'd be in here, but they clearly weren't, or that Scott would be able to point him to them. They'd have to figure that out later. 

Stiles was finishing with the straps when Scott looked past him, up at the ceiling again, where Bee was starting to lower himself out of the hole. 

"Stay up there," Stiles told him. "That's our exit." Bee's legs lifted into the ceiling again. 

"Who?" Scott asked. 

"His name is Bee. He hates Peter as much as we do." Stiles decided not to try and explain the whole clone-Derek thing. If Scott recognised the features enough to figure it out, fair enough, but otherwise they had enough things to deal with. He also didn't say that Bee was a friend or ally, because he still wasn't sure about that. 

While he was considering that issue, Stiles decided he needed to upgrade his weaponry. .A screwdriver wasn't going to do them much good against armed fighters. He went to the shelves, looking for something that might be more useful. Sure enough, amid the clutter of tools on one shelf, he found a knife that almost resembled a scalpel. It's blade was barely the width of one of his fingers, but it looked sharp. There was a little, plastic cover over the blade so Stiles could put it in a pocket without worrying about cutting himself. The cover meant he would take a moment longer to get the knife ready to use as a weapon, but he decided that not stabbing himself in the leg was worth that cost. 

He also found a small hand saw, which he gave to Scott. Scott just looked at it with a puzzled expression. 

"In case we need to fight," Stiles explained. 

"Do I get a weapon?" Bee asked, peering through the hole at them. 

"No," Stiles replied. "I don't know if I trust you with one." 

Bee seemed to accept that as an answer. He didn't look too offended or try to argue. He just held out a hand to help them climb up. First Scott then Stiles climbed on the workbench Scott had been strapped to and then grabbed hold of the edge of the hole, scrambling up with Bee hauling from above. It was harder than Stiles had expected it to be, and he ended up hunched over beside the hole, breathing in wheezes, trying to not show how much it had affected him. 

"Are you going to be alright?" Scott asked. 

Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His chest ached. Scrambling around a ship controlled by enemies was definitely not what the medics had recommended, but he didn't have much choice here. It would only be so long before someone figured out that Scott wasn't imprisoned anymore, and then there would be a search of the ship to contend with. They had to find Melissa and Kira before that happened and work out some sort of plan. 

Getting off the ship seemed the obvious plan, but their shuttle couldn't outrun even a rundown rebel ship. Would they be able to take the ship? Even with four of them, five if they included Bee, they didn't have the numbers to match even a skeleton crew. A part of Stiles wanted to try and capture one of the crew, to question them and get some answers. He wanted to know what was going on, how Peter had ended up on a rebel ship, what had been meant about his dad having another appointment? Right now, Stiles didn't have anyone to address those questions to and it was as worrying as everything else about the situation. 

But he had to focus on one thing at a time, on a goal they could achieve. The first thing was to get their group together. 

"Did you see where Kira and your mom were taken?" Stiles asked. 

"Somewhere near, I think," Scott said. "We were brought most of the way together and Peter only separated us near the end to take me into that workshop." 

Stiles searched his memories of the ship, trying to figure out where else prisoners might be stashed. There were storage units, he supposed, little closets for holding equipment that might be needed in engineering. Those only had one way in or out and were fairly small, so they might be chosen as cells. Unfortunately, that meant they wouldn't be able to pull the same trick to get in there because there was no badly patched hack job they could take advantage of. If there were guards outside, like there had been outside the workshop, that would be trouble. 

"We'll probably have to fight," Stiles warned the others. Scott nodded but didn't look happy about that, whether because of his poor weapon, because he was worried about Stiles, or because he just didn't like the idea of fighting, it was difficult to say. Bee didn't look happy either and Stiles wondered if he ought to have given him a weapon after all. There was no point worrying about that now though. 

He found a way down a level and then towards the storage units. Sure enough, a woman was standing guard in front of some otherwise ordinary doors. Stiles risked a glance round the corner and then pulled back, leaning against the wall with a sense of despair flooding him. He did know her. That hurt worse than the chest pains from all this running around. 

Tara was a rebel, someone who'd worked with Stiles' father. She'd been given the task of looking after Stiles a few times, keeping him out of the way on the occasions when he'd been on rebel bases and ships. She'd helped him with his lessons. Yet she was here, part of a plot to capture him. That betrayal stung. 

And yet... she obviously hadn't been there in the shuttle bay. She would have known at once that Scott wasn't Stiles. Was there some reason why she hadn't been there? Perhaps she'd felt guilty. Perhaps she hadn't wanted Stiles to know that someone he'd once been fond of was here. Or perhaps... perhaps she'd been assigned a position away from the person Peter thought was Stiles deliberately. 

It was a slim chance, but a better option than fighting her. Between the three of them, they might be able to get the better of her in a fight but Stiles really didn't want to have to. He took a breath. 

"Wait here," he told the others. 

"What are you going to do?" Scott asked in a hissing whisper. When Stiles didn't answer, he asked, "Do you even have a plan." 

Stiles raised a hand a wobbled it back and forth in a 'sort of' gesture. He straightened up, put one hand in a pocket so that he could pull out the knife in a hurry if necessary, and sauntered casually round the corner. 

"Hey, Tara," he said calmly. 

She seemed a little surprised, but not at all alarmed and she didn't go for the gun strapped to her hip, which he took to be a good sign. "Stiles. How are you doing?" 

Her tone was gentle. It wasn't the harsh voice of a guard wondering how a prisoner had escaped, but as an old friend of the family wanting to check on someone who'd been through something awful. She wasn't surprised he was on this ship, and she also wasn't more than a little bit surprised he was wandering around on his own. Now that the initial shock of seeing him was gone, she was perfectly calm about it. He continued to hold onto the hope that she'd been kept away from the docking bay deliberately. 

"Oh, you know, trying to avoid being restrained and tortured." He tried to keep his tone casual but kept his eyes on her face, watching for her reaction. There was sympathy on her face. 

"You'll be alright now. You're off that ship and away from him." 

She really didn't know. Either that or she'd wasted her calling as an actor when she'd signed up to the rebels. He let some of his anger into his voice. He wasn't sure if he was angry at Peter Hale for manipulating things or angry at Tara for being manipulated. 

"I was talking about on this ship," he said. "I'm talking about being met here by a load of people with guns who wanted to lock me up in a workshop full of tools they could use for torturing me." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about the fact that Peter Hale is apparently alive and calling the shots on this ship and he decided to take me prisoner. I'm still not sure for what yet." 

"Peter Hale is dead," Tara said. The look of concern was back on her face. Perhaps she thought Stiles had had a mental breakdown because of everything that had happened to him and this was some sort of delusion. 

"Apparently not. He must have faked his death with one of the clones Deucalion created. I haven't worked out his plan yet, but it involves capturing me and involves this ship and the rebels somehow. I don't know why anyone here would follow him though." 

"We're not. The man in charge on this ship is a man called Argent," Tara said. "He came to the rebels shortly after your father was captured and suggested combining our forces. He's a little less cautious when it comes to using force than your father was but he wants the same things and some of the rebels wanted to be more active." 

"More active," Stiles said. "I guess that's a nicer way of saying 'doesn't mind if children die as collateral damage'." He could get the rebels working with Argent more easily than he could get them working with Peter, but that still left him with big questions: why would Argent work with Peter Hale? That seemed like a complete betrayal of everything he supposedly believed in. It seemed every answer Stiles was getting gave him yet another question. 

"He's not so bad," Tara said, "and we needed someone to take charge after your father surrendered." 

"Where is my dad? He went back to the rebels to try and round up the troops." 

Tara nodded. "Yes. I heard he came back. There was a meeting between him and Argent and some of the captains and officers. I wasn't at the meeting but I heard rumours. People said he'd been brainwashed by Derek Hale and wanted to lead the fleet into a trap. A few captains decided to trust him, to go with him, but most voted to follow Argent instead." 

"But what happened then?" 

"He took the ships that agreed and went somewhere. I don't know what happened after that." 

So his dad was OK. He'd had the meeting with the rebels and taken a few of the ships off to the joint attack with Derek's forces. That was something at least. Assuming Tara was correct. Given that she didn't know half of what was going on aboard this ship, it was possible that she was mistaken about Stiles' dad, but he couldn't worry about that now. Right now, he had to deal with his immediate situation. If Tara didn't have enough information, that was at least something he could help with, but he would have to be quicker than he'd been so far. He wasn't sure how long it would be before someone turned up to replace her on shift or something. 

"Here's what I know," Stiles said. "Derek Hale isn't evil. He wants to be a good leader and help people, but he's up against a load of influential people who've all got their own agendas and he's worried about crashing the whole system and causing chaos, so he's a bit more cautious of big changes than I'd like, but he's trying." Tara looked like she might argue, so Stiles pressed on, talking rapidly. "He's made some small steps in the right direction and he was trying to talk to General Deucalion about cleaning up the military. Deucalion has been doing secret cloning experiments for years so he decided to run a coup and tried to replace Derek with a clone of his sister. We got away, and now Derek needs to stop Deucalion's forces to take control of the military again and, you know, fix all the corruption. My dad agreed to help because he's been talking to Derek and now knows that Derek is just trying his best and if we solve this current crisis together maybe there'll be a chance to fix the empire peacefully. Meanwhile, Derek stuck me on a shuttle with a couple of my friends and a medic to look after us to keep us safe because he didn't want kids caught up in the big battle because, you know, not evil." 

He decided to skip over the part about his life-threatening injury. He pressed on before Tara could interrupt. "Then this ship and a couple of others showed up and I recognised that this was a rebel ship so I thought it was my dad or someone he sent so I came on board only it wasn't my dad waiting for me, it was Peter Hale and a bunch of goons with guns. They mistook my friend Scott for me, so presumably anyone who'd actually met me was kept out of the way, and they took everyone prisoner. I was able to overhear Peter mention how he used Deucalion's clones to fake his own death, and then I managed to get Scott out. Now I want to get the rest of my friends back and get out of here before Peter figures out Scott's not his prisoner anymore, or that he's not me. I don't know who on this ship is working for Peter or the rebels or Argent or someone else, so I don't know who I can trust. I'm hoping I can trust you." 

He fixed her with a firm stare. He'd always liked Tara. She hadn't exactly been a friend, but she'd been friendlier than most of the rebels about having an irritating kid getting underfoot. He needed her to understand, to agree to help, because if she called for backup it was all over. The question wasn't whether or not she was a good person, but whether she believed anything he said. She still looked at him with that concerned expression she'd had when he'd first mentioned Peter Hale, as though he were ill and she just wanted him to get better. 

"Peter Hale is dead," she said again. "This story of yours..." She shook her head. 

"If I can prove that there's cloning going on, will that make it easier for you to believe?" 

"I suppose." 

So Stiles turned over his shoulder and quietly called out, "Bee."


	55. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story isn't dead! It's just been in a coma. Now it's awake again but it will take a bit of physical therapy to get it back on its feet and it might be slow moving for a while. 
> 
> What I'm trying to say with this forced analogy is that updates might be a little slow for a bit, but I wanted you to know that I haven't abandoned this fic.

Bee walked slowly around the corner, Scott a step behind him. Stiles gave them both a smile and gestured them forward.

"This is Scott," he said. "He's my friend and he was just strapped up on a workshop bench around the corner from here ready to be probably tortured because Peter Hale thought he was me. And this is Bee, he's Derek Hale's clone."

Tara looked sceptical. "He doesn't look like Derek Hale. He's a lot younger for one."

"Clones don't spring into being fully formed," Stiles said. "To make a clone, you have to take the DNA and implant it in an egg cell and then let it grow and divide like a normal embryo until it becomes a baby. I'm guessing Deucalion had some sort of accelerator process unless he's been planning to take over for sixteen years, but that's not going to speed things up too much."

"He still could be lying. He could be claiming to be a clone. Maybe he's a distant cousin or something."

"I've spent enough time around Derek lately to be sure about this," Stiles said. Apparently that wasn't enough for Tara.

"This is a waste of time," Bee said.

"Look, do you want to fight everyone on this ship with just the three of us and no real weapons? Because I don't." He turned back to Tara. "Look, how much do you know about the other people on this ship? Have you met all of them?"

He wished he could just show her Peter, but it wasn't like this ship had a functioning security system they could tap into to find some surveillance footage of him. On the other hand, if the ship had a functioning security system, he would have been caught trying to leave the shuttle, so he wasn't going to bemoan that too much. The lack of equipment among the rebels was working in his favour as much as it was working against him right now.

"I haven't met them all," she said. "For the most part, Argent has had those of us from your father's group working together and his people working together."

"You don't think that's a bit suspicious?"

"Not really. This is a big ship and we're undercrewed. We've all been too busy for socialising, and it's more efficient for all of us to work with people whose working styles we're used to."

"That's also a really good excuse for keeping you in the dark about what half the crew is up to. How well do you know Argent? How much do you trust him?"

"I don't know him as well as I knew your father," she admitted, "but he hasn't done anything for me not to trust him."

"How about murdering children?" Stiles suggested. At Tara's shocked expression, he continued, "That's why my dad never worked with him, because he committed terrorist attacks on civilian targets and children got killed. That's why I got kidnapped, because Derek thought that all Argent's attacks were done on my dad's orders, so he kidnapped me as a desperate resort to keep more innocent people from dying. Argent has done awful things and that was all before I was captured by Derek."

"I realise you don't know me," Scott said, "but you have to know about the Argent attack on the palace years ago. Yes, the Argents killed the old overlord, but they also killed a lot of other people. The ends don't justify the means."

Stiles thought Tara's resolve was weakening, but this was taking far too long. They couldn't afford to stand here arguing. If Peter went back to that workshop and found Scott gone, he could order a search of the ship and then they were doomed. He'd only managed to evade capture so long because no one was actively looking for him.

"Tara, please," he said, "let me get my friends and get out of here. That's all we want."

He nodded to the door she was guarding.

"You can't," she said. That wasn't the answer Stiles had been hoping for. He wasn't sure what to do next. He had a hand inside his pocket, clutching the knife, but he really didn't want to fight Tara. He was just running out of arguments.

But Tara continued, "If you try and launch a shuttle, the bridge crew will stop it."

She didn't say precisely what she meant by stop it, but Stiles guessed she wasn't talking about someone sealing the shuttle bay doors. The bridge crew had control of the weapons and could blast a little shuttle into dust without issue. It wasn't like a shuttle was powerful enough to outright this ship on normal engines and it couldn't make a hyperspace jump. If Stiles tried to get away on that shuttle, he would be killed. But what other options did he have? He didn't want to wait around until he got caught because he didn't want to face whatever tortures Peter had in mind for him.

"Can we take over the bridge?" Scott asked.

Stiles didn't think there was a chance in hell of that with the three of them, but if Tara could be convinced, that would make four, and he couldn't forget that Melissa and Kira were behind the door Tara was currently guarding. Six of them gave much better odds, especially if Tara could help them get hold of actual weapons.

"Are you with us?" Stiles asked Tara.

"You're talking about mutiny."

"If Argent's working with Peter, he's already betrayed every rebel on this ship. Besides, what good is it being a rebel if you don't rebel?"

Tara didn't seem convinced by that last point, but the fact that she was still talking to him was a good sign.

"Please, Tara," he said. "If you've ever trusted me about anything, trust me about this. I need your help. My dad needs you help. The whole damn galaxy needs your help. Please, believe me."

***

Derek's ship positioned itself near to the little boarding craft that was latched firmly onto the side of the space station. The craft was stuck there until it could bore through the hull, which would take some time given how armoured this base was. As long as it was there, clinging to the hull in one spot like a metallic insect, it was vulnerable. Derek was acutely aware of his friends on that ship, more important to him than even the success of this mission, so his ship stayed nearby, opening fire on anything that got too close, deploying countermeasures and trying to extend their shields to offer some additional protection.

A cluster of small craft flew out of a nearby panel on the station's hull, darting along in a rapidly changing manner that made it difficult to predict their trajectory. Each one was a rough sphere, perhaps half a metre in diameter, with spindly metal protrusions sticking out in all directions with which they could control their directional thrust, like the over-abundance of legs on an insect. They were far too small to be manned craft, too small to target easily, and they stayed close to the station hull to make it difficult for fighters to get in around them and open fire. On the other hand, something that small couldn't have very powerful weapons on board. They were presumably some sort of automated defense against exactly this sort of an attack, and Derek's crew were doing their best to pick them off, but missing more often than they hit due to the erratic flight pattern. Derek was put in mind of little bugs, darting about in the air and always seeming to be just a little ahead of the stroke of a swatter.

Stilinski's rebel ship launched an explosive device, which struck the hull of the station in a bloom of greenish flame, taking out four or five of the little defense craft, but but small things responded to that attack by spreading out, darting across the station's metal exterior until they formed a rough circle around the boarding craft, too far apart from each other for those explosive weapons to take out more than one or two at a time, at least until they drew in close to the boarding craft and they couldn't risk firing without hitting their own ship. Either someone inside the base was controlling the bug things or they were linked together in a way that let them synchronise their attacks.

"What the hell are those things?" Derek asked.

It was a rhetorical question, but someone answered, "Unknown, sir," all the same.

This was the problem with attacking a base run by the person who'd been ultimately responsible for military research. The first of the little bug craft latched on to their boarding craft and exploded in white heat and a shower of sparks. The little bug things didn't have weapons, they were weapons. Mini bombs that could target themselves.

Derek brought up the scans of the boarding craft and was able to pick up the power fluctuations even from here. A few more hits like that and the craft would struggle to power its own systems, let alone the hull cutter.

Lydia took over the display, pulling up scans of the bug craft, focusing in particular on the signals they were sending. Derek's guess had been right that the bug things weren't acting independently. Lydia got the display to show an overlay of wave patterns that were flowing back and forth between them. The bugs were acting as a swarm and those signals were what was letting them do it.

"Danny, I need your help with the decryption," Lydia said, and Danny was right there by her side, talking rapidly about data flows and rotational algorithms, speaking so fast Derek wouldn't have been able to follow them even if they weren't throwing around terms he couldn't understand. He got the impression that this was all very complicated. The two of them were trying to decrypt the communications between the bug things so that they could send their own signals, but as they continued to talk, another of the bugs fly into the boarding craft and exploded, close to the site of the earlier attack, probably aiming for a single point to do the most damage.

"We don't have time," Derek told his computer experts.

"We know," Danny said. "Telling us to go faster isn't going to help."

He spoke more sharply than Danny ever normally did. The strain of knowing what was at stake must have been getting to him.

"The signals are too complex," Lydia said. "They're varying the encryption. It could take days to break through the code to send our own instructions."

Another of the bug things started moving towards the ship, but a lucky blast from the weapons, now they could at least guess at a trajectory, took it out. That didn't stop another aiming for the craft on the other side.

"Aw hell," Lydia muttered. She hurried over to the comms desk and shoved the officer aside so she could enter commands.

The display of communications signals became a burst of activity, bright lines spiking and jerking in signals Derek didn't understand.

The bug things stopped dodging. They stopped manoeuvring and just drifted in whichever direction they had been moving a moment before.

"I don't know how long this will last," Lydia said, but the weapons officer was already taking advantage of the newly predictable motion to pick off the little bugs.

"What did you do?" Derek asked. "I thought you said it would take days."

"I jammed their frequencies with static. It drowned out their real communications. I didn't expect it to be quite so effective; these things must still be in development to have a flaw so big."

Derek was not going to complain about any flaw in the enemy's weapons. He felt a surge of gratitude that Lydia had managed to take advantage of it, especially when, a moment later, the message came through from the boarding craft that they had broken through the hull. Derek could only imagine how much firepower they would be facing inside the station, but at least now they weren't going to be picked off like sitting ducks while they clung to the outer hull.

He sent a message of his own back, a simple, "Good luck," and tried not to think about the odds that he would see his friends again when this was all over.


	56. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limping forward in progress with this story. I only finished this chapter today so it hasn't been properly proofread, but I figured I'd kept you waiting long enough for an update.

Melissa was not at all happy about Stiles being involved in a combat situation. Stiles tried to dismiss her concerns and pretend he was fine but when Tara found out that Stiles had been recently poisoned, Stiles found himself overruled, which was entirely unfair given that Tara hadn't even been part of this group until a few minutes earlier. She was, however, the person who could get them into the nearest weapons locker which gave her vote extra weight.

"It's not like I'm going to be safer standing in a hallway on a ship that has Peter Hale on it," Stiles said. "I'll probably get captured and brutally tortured while you're out there fighting."

"Torture is likely to put less strain on your lungs than the aerobic activity involved in fighting," Melissa pointed out. Stiles wasn't sure if she didn't believe he would be tortured and that allowed her to be so dismissive, or if she genuinely thought torture was the better option given his current condition.

"You did have to rest a lot earlier," Bee said, which caused Scott to reach out and put a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder and advise him to listen to his mom.

"Why is everyone against me?" Stiles asked.

"If by 'against you' you mean trying to keep you from getting yourself killed," Melissa said.

"Exactly."

In the end, they reached a compromise. Stiles was allowed to take a gun from the weapons stash but was under strict orders to remain behind the others when they stormed the bridge. Bee wasn't even given a gun, so it could have been worse. Stiles actually felt a bit sorry for Bee, but he understood why no one would trust him with a weapon. Tara had actually suggested locking him in the cell that Kira and Melissa had been in.

"He's helping us," Stiles pointed out. "Besides, what if we all die horribly and no one realises there's anyone locked in there and he dies of starvation. Do you want that on your ghost's conscience?"

Tara didn't argue. Either she was concerned for the amount of guilt her deceased spirit would feel or she didn't want to argue with Stiles about the existences of consciences in dead people. Either way, Stiles counted it as a win and Bee accompanied them towards the bridge. Bee gave Stiles a tentative smile that might have been a show of gratitude and made Stiles wonder how little people must have spoken up for him if he reacted like this to Stiles saying that he basically didn't deserve to die.

"Do we actually have a plan" Scott asked as they walked towards the bridge. He looked distinctly uncomfortable about the gun in his hand, like maybe he would have preferred to have been banned from fighting too.

"We subdue rather than kill," Tara said. "Stiles says that Peter Hale is alive and calling some of the shots round here, but we can't know who's complicit and who's being deceived. We capture and then decide what to do with people later."

It was a risky approach, but given that it was possible some of the people on the bridge were loyal to his dad, Stiles could hardly argue with her logic. They formed up with Tara in the lead with Melissa and Kira flanking her, followed by Scott. Bee and Stiles brought up the rear, Stiles gripping his gun so tightly he thought he might leave indentations in the casing. He kept and eye on the hallways behind them in case someone snuck up on them from behind. Stiles' heart was racing from the tension by the time they reached the bridge, accompanied by bursts of pain that absolutely would not convince him to admit that maybe Melissa had a point.

At the door to the bridge, Tara held up one hand and used her fingers to give a silent count. Stiles checked the settings on his gun were on stun for about the tenth time. Tara hit the controls for the door and started shooting before the door was even half open. Stiles followed into a chaos of shouting and gun fire. Someone leapt at their group, but Kira dropped, using her weight against his legs to pivot the guy over her to land on his back on the decking. Kira had her gun back in position and shot him before Stiles could even aim. Someone dove behind a control panel, yelling in panic, but Tara and Melissa circled round from either side, shooting the person together.

By the time the noise died, Stiles' heart was racing like he'd just run a marathon but he still hadn't fired a shot.

"You, sit!" Melissa ordered him. For once in his life, Stiles didn't argue. He sank into a nearby seat and willed his circulatory system to return to normal while the others started securing the unconscious bridge crew. If the chair he happened to have picked turned out to be the captain's chair, well, that was hardly his fault. And if it gave him access to the ship's systems, it was only prudent to check what he was now able to do.

Someone had sounded an alarm over the attack on the bridge, in the few seconds between the door opening and being shot. Stiles cut that alarm off. It was possible that some people would think the alarm was a fault caused by the ship's dodgy wiring, but they couldn't rely on that. Someone was likely to investigate. Stiles poked at the controls a bit more to see what options were available. He saw one prominant button and smiled as he jabbed it. 

The bridge door slammed shut, making the conscious people present jump.

"Emergency lockdown is now in effect," a voice said over the speaker system. "Emergency lockdown is now in effect."

Eyes turned to Stiles.

"What did you do?" Scott asked.

"Emergency procedure for hull breach or some other catastrophe. Every part of the ship is now separated by air tight seals." There were advantages to being on a ship cobbled together from pieces, one of which was that whoever had rebuilt the systems had clearly worked on the assumption that something would go horribly wrong. The lockdown was designed to isolate areas to make sure that if parts of the ship were exposed to vacuum, people in the other areas wouldn't immediately die. It had the side effect of making sure no one could sneak up on them.

"Can it be overriden?" Tara asked.

Stiles checked the settings. "If someone has access to an auxiliary control panel and high enough command credentials they can turn it off. Security, medics, and repair workers can override the lockdown at each seal individually." He supposed that made sense. If people were assigned to fix the damage or rescue injured crew, they would need to get access to the sealed areas. He'd bought them some time though, and he could display a map of the ship with the seals highlighted on it with their status. They would be able to see as soon as someone turned them off.

The question was, what should they do now? He could disable the weapons and unseal a path to the shuttle. They could get out of here and might be able to hide from the ship's scanners before anyone else could unseal the path to the bridge. But was that the best option? There was still a chance someone could regain control of the ship and shoot them to pieces before they could get away. It wasn't like a little shuttle could outrun even a ship like this one. Right now, they had control of the bridge, which meant they had control of navigation and weapons.

He should ask the others for their opinions. He should see what they thought was best and have a discussion about whether to make a break for the shuttle, to try to take proper control of this ship and contain any enemies onboard, or to take more direct action, but he knew that they could spend hours arguing about what to do and by the time they reached a consensus, Peter Hale and anyone who worked for him could have stormed the bridge. Besides, his dad and Derek were in a dangerous situation right now and needed all the help they could get.

Stiles knew this was a ridiculously impulsive decision. He knew that he was probably going to get yelled at by at least a dozen people over this. But he also knew that he had to do something to help the people he cared about.

The others were distracted securing the bridge crew. Tara had brought a load of cuffs from the security locker and now they were securing the bridge crew in a ring, cuffing ankles to ankles and wrists to wrists so that the entire crew were in a chain, each secured to two others in a way that would make any attempt to fight back virtually impossible. This involved a fair bit of dragging people around, so no one was looking as Stiles brought up the navigation systems. He didn't have the same level of control that he would have if he were sitting in the pilot's seat, but from the captain's place, he had more than enough authority to set a destination to a registered jump point and input the command to move the ship.

The ship's engine's whined into full power mode, the ship rattling in an alarming way as it prepared for the jump. Tara knew this ship well enough to recognise the noise for what it was. She turned to Stiles and had time to demand, "Where the hell are you sending us?" before the ship lurched into an unsteady hyperspace jump.


	57. Chapter 51

Derek felt like he was just marking time out here on his ship. The important fight was happening on the station. That was where the actions were taking place that would determine who would be in control of this space station, and therefore all its weapons and resources. Derek's ship and the others in his small fleet were dodging laser fire and explosions, nearly dying every few minutes or so it felt, but it was hard to believe they were having much effect. He could see on his displays the weapons arrays that had been knocked out, and the space the pilot was trying desperately to navigate was littered with the wreckage of destroyed fighters, but there were so many fighters and weapons arrays to start with that it still seemed like they were making a futile stand.

It would take very little for him to be killed here. A mistimed manoeuvre or a lucky strike by the enemy, and this whole ship could be destroyed, killing him and everyone else on board. All he’d tried to achieve would turn into a rain of debris scattered across this battlefield. He had managed to make a truce with the rebels, something even his uncle had never been able to achieve, but what would it matter if he and Stilinski both died here?

Deucalion was probably dead, had probably died in their earlier fight, and he still might win here. He had turned the military forces against Derek and Derek was now fully aware of how fragile his position of power had been. He had a handful of ships under his command with rapidly draining energy reserves and increasing damage to shields and hull. If he died here, would anyone remember him as anything except a failed ruler who couldn’t keep his command for more than a couple of years? Would anyone even remember that he’d tried his best to help his people?

Maybe even this was as selfish as Stiles had ever accused him of being. He had probably brought his people to their deaths and all he could think about was his legacy.

And Stiles.

As the ship shuddered under another assault that the pilot couldn’t evade, he found his thoughts drifting back to Stiles. At least Stiles was well away from here, safe and sound on a shuttle lightyears away. He would be able to live a life in freedom, no matter what happened here. It wasn’t much, compared to all Derek had stolen from him, but it was something. Derek hoped it would be enough to outweigh all the damage he had done to Stiles, having him kidnapped, threatening his father, trapping him on his ship.

His mind drifting from the battle, Derek found himself wishing he had another chance to apologise to Stiles for all he’d done.

There was a burst of energy on his screens as a ship emerged from jump on the edge of the system, dumping energy and falling into a lazy spin as it failed to orientate with the space station or the planetary bodies. It looked like no one was even at the controls, but it had drawn the attention of some of the other ships. A group of fighters broke ranks to intercept it, so presumably those on the station thought it was an enemy. As Derek's screens cleared of the background noise caused by the jump exit, he got a better look at the ship and it was definitely not a fleet ship. It barely looked like a ship at all. It was a collection of parts, and looked like it had no right to still be in one piece. No wonder it was having difficulty recovering from jump. It was like someone had mashed together parts from multiple ships and attached an engine to it.

The comms lit up as Stilinski's ship sent a message to the new arrival, the signal broad spread rather than tight beam given all the moving about they were all doing, so Derek's systems could pick it up and play it too.

"Argent, what the hell are you doing here?" Stilniski asked, sounding furious. Derek's entire body filled with tension at the mention of that name. But it wasn't the face of any of the Argents that appeared on his comms screen.

"Argent isn't in charge right now," said Stiles, sounding ridiculously smug and looking like he was no longer quite at death's door, but certainly not out of death's neighbourhood yet. The tension that had engulfed Derek grew worse, turning into a wave of terror that threatened to drown him. Stiles was here, in his system, about to enter a battle where they might all be killed at a moment's notice.

Derek wasn't the only one affected. If anything, Stilinski sounded even angrier than when he'd thought Argent was here, "Stiles? What! The! Hell!?"

"Hi, Dad." It was possible that some of Stiles' smugness faded, but not enough to fool anyone into thinking he was actually contrite.

Derek switched on his comms to join in the conversation, "What are you doing here? How did you get that ship?"

"Long story, most of which I probably shouldn't say on an open comm. Basically, we were captured and fought our way onto the bridge and now we've got this ship but half the people on it are enemies and half are rebels who are being duped and we don't know which is which and... oh shit."

There was more swearing from somewhere near Stiles and Derek watched the jerking motion as Stiles was flung about. On his other display, he saw the ship perform a clumsy turn to avoid a barrage of missiles. There was some more swearing and then the ship started firing its own weapons with considerably less precision.

"Get us over there," Derek ordered his own crew. "They need help."

His heart was pounding in his chest. How could Stiles be so foolish? Why would he rush into this battle in a ship that looked barely capable of functioning after Derek went to all that trouble to ensure he was somewhere safe? He already knew the answer to that question. Stiles had come here because his father was here. He'd already seen the lengths Stiles was willing to go to in order to protect his father and he was seeing more of the same, seeing Stiles risk his life for the faint hope that he might have some impact on his chances of survival. Derek could only wish that someone would display such unswerving loyalty towards him, but he knew that he hadn't done anything to earn it.

He could just try to make sure that Stiles' reckless devotion to his father didn't result in his death.

Derek's crew acted according to their training, the pilot dodging through the debris to bring them in closer, the weapons tech firing rapidly to take out the small fighters that were hounding Stiles' ship. Some of those fighters broke away to deal with Derek's flagship again, but that was still and improvement to the situation. Every ship that was attacking him was a ship that wasn't attacking Stiles.

Some more of his makeshift fleet joined up on him and the focus of the battle shifted. They moved away from the space station now, away from some of the heavy weapons towers that covered its hull, but not so far as to abandon the boarding teams. Derek couldn't forget that there were people he cared about on the station as well as out here.

On his comms screen, Stiles' earlier smugness had dissolved into frantic panic. Derek couldn't tell exactly what was going on but it involved a fair amount of swearing and someone was calling Stiles a whole range of insulting names for being a reckless idiot and dumping them into battle without even warning them properly first.

"I think... oh crap," Stiles said. One of the fighters had lain a strafe of fire across a seam where two different hulls had apparently been welded together. Derek's display lit up with notifications about venting atmosphere.

"You've got a hull breach!" Derek told him, resisting the urge to start swearing too.

"Oh gee, I didn't notice that," Stiles said, over the sound of a wailing alarm on his end of the comms. "We're already in lockdown. Kira, can you deploy... oh crap."

More notifications flashed up on Derek's display. Lydia leaned over Derek's shoulder to speak to Stiles, her eyes taking in all the numbers and notices that were showing on the readouts from Stiles' ship.

"You need to get out of there," she said. "That ship is about to tear itself apart at the seams from the stress of moving so fast."

"I'm clearing a path to the shuttle bay," Stiles said.

"What about them?" someone asked from off screen. Derek thought it was Scott.

"We'll seal the bridge behind us so they won't suffocate," Stiles said. "They should be safe... ish."

Derek wasn't sure anything would be safe in this part of space with all the fighting going on, but at least the enemy wouldn't have any reason to target drifting wreckage of sealed ship's compartments.

"I can unseal compartments on the port side so anyone on board can reach life pods," Stiles said. "Where do you want me to aim it?"

"Aim what?" Derek asked.

"The port side of the ship. We're about to split down the middle but if I give us the right nudge, I should be able to direct where some of the wreckage ends up."

"We don't have time for this," someone said on Stiles' side of the comms link.

"Stiles, just get out of there," Stilinski said, "Please."

The comms link cut off. Derek wasn't sure if that was because Stiles had cut the connection so he could make his escape, or if it was because of the multiple failures his sensors were picking up from Stiles' ship. Small explosions burst along the line connecting the two distinct halves of the ship. Stiles had brought this ship here only to have it destroyed in its first minutes here. It clearly wasn't a ship designed for a battle on this scale and Stiles had done the most reckless thing in the history of the galaxy by bringing it here. It was going to get him killed and Derek found himself unable to breathe.

He hadn't even used this opportunity to say goodbye, or to apologise for everything he'd done. He watched the screen, barely aware of what was going on with his own ship as he watched the bending metal and rupturing connectors, the bursts of atmosphere as sections of the ship were exposed to vacuum, and the fresh explosions as sensitive systems were destroyed.

Bursts of energy showed the launching of the escape pods from one side of the ship. Derek could only hope that Stiles was on board one of them. His hands were shaking uselessly on the arms of his chair. He couldn't press any of these controls to fix the problems. He couldn't make Stiles safe despite the power at his command.

All he could do was watch.

As the ship tore in half, the engines were left attached to the port side. A lone thruster fired a final blast and sent the half ship spinning towards the station. It smashed into one of the defensive platforms but the larger bulk of the half ship meant its momentum carried both of them towards the spinning circles around the heart of the Coriolis base. It wasn't the perfect strike, missing the main hub of the space station, but the half ship hit one of the inner rings. Stiles must have set power building in the engines because the impact caused a massive blast, an explosion that tore out a huge chunk of the second ring too and sent secondary explosions raging further along.

"Holy crap," Danny murmured, watching the screens from somewhere behind Derek. Derek could hardly disagree with that sentiment. In one stroke, Stiles had just caused more damage than all their weapons systems had managed to. A jump capable ship had a massive amount of potential energy and Stiles had managed to turn the whole thing into a missile.

He just had to hope that none of his people had been anywhere near that part of the station. They'd boarded much further out, so hopefully they'd been well away from the point of impact, but he couldn't know for sure. It was entirely possible that his friends had been fighting their way through that section and were now obliterated. Uncertainty and terror clenched tightly around Derek's heart.

He could do nothing for his people on the station. But maybe he could still do something for Stiles. He turned his attention to the wreckage that was all that was left of the rest of the ship, instructing the display to identify any lifepods, as well as any indications of life in the wreckage. If Stiles had made it off the ship before it was destroyed, it might be possible to save him before the enemy fighters took him out.

And there, Derek saw with racing heart, was a shuttle emerging from the chaos. The same shuttle Stiles had left in not so long ago.

It had emerged in good enough shape that it was able to manoeuvre under its own power.

"Bring us in closer to the shuttle," Derek ordered, "and allow it to dock. Lydia, you have command."

It wasn't like he was doing much good here on the bridge anyway. He would go down to the docking bay. He needed to see Stiles, to see that he was alright. He needed to see that Stiles was alive and then maybe murder him himself for pulling off such a dangerous stunt. His emotions were a churning mess, between the delight at the shuttle's survival, the terror over how easily Stiles might have died on that ship, anger that he'd put himself in danger, and the pride at seeing Stiles put his great mind to work in even such a challenging situation, he didn't know what to feel. He just knew he wouldn't be able to come anywhere close to calm until he saw Stiles with his own two eyes and could check that he really was alive.


	58. Chapter 52

Derek didn't have any proof that it really was Stiles on the shuttle. Stiles had said he was clearing a path to the shuttle bay, but it was possible that someone else had taken the shuttle before Stiles could get there, and Stiles had said something bout half of the people on the ship being enemies. So Derek stood behind a couple of security officers, watching the shuttle power down. He probably should have had a whole team here, but he'd sent too many of his fighters on the boarding parties to have enough here to spare them. He probably should have waited behind a secure door, but he didn't want to have to wait a moment longer than necessary to see that Stiles was alive.

He waited anxiously as the shuttle performed its powering down tasks, the whole process seeming to take ten times as long as it normally would. He wasn't sure what he would do if the hatch opened and it turned out not to be Stiles. He felt physically sick even considering the idea.

But then the hatch opened and there was Stiles, grinning sheepishly at him as he emerged, but somehow still managing to look a bit smug at the same time. Something unlocked inside Derek, a flood of relief filling him so much he thought he might burst into tears. Derek pushed past his bodyguards and stormed across the docking bay to him. Stiles backed up a step, raising his hands as though to deflect a blow, but then Derek had his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Stiles' arms, which had been raised in front of him, were now pinned between them, but Stiles managed to twist a hand around to pat Derek vaguely on the chest.

"If you missed me this much, you shouldn't have sent me away," Stiles said.

"I am going to hobble you."

"In my defence, I didn't exactly plan for to steal a space ship and gatecrash your battle."

"How is that a defence?"

Derek let go of the hug. He really didn't want to, some part of him felt sure that Stiles would get himself into trouble the instant Derek left go of him, but he was acutely aware that they weren't alone. People were watching them and this wasn't the sort of behaviour an overlord was supposed to indulge in. Even if he was incredibly relieved that Stiles was alive and utterly furious at him for being here and proud of him for that attack on the station all at the same time, so full of emotions that he thought he needed to break down and cry just to relieve some of the pressure inside him.

"Before I get into that," Stiles said, "there are a couple of people you need to meet and I've got some very important news that you really need to hear as soon as possible even though you really won't want to hear it."

Stiles was talking rapidly, but not fast enough to reach the end of his little speech before other people started coming off the shuttle behind him. One of them looked astonishingly, and impossibly, familiar. It was a face Derek had seen in news footage and on broadcasts and in his own bathroom mirror. He was looking at himself, a few years younger than him but unmistakeably him.

He thought of Cora on the space station and wanted a weapon, wanted to get Stiles away from this new threat that wore his face. But Stiles moved even as Derek did, keeping himself between them.

"Derek, this is Bee. He's been very helpful to us. Give him a chance."

A chance? Derek was expected to give a chance to this manufactured weapon, a person created from his own DNA to be used against him, or to replace him? But because Stiles asked, Derek found himself looking closer, and he saw the fear in those eyes that mirrored his. This clone, this thing, was afraid of him. If there was any malice there, it was hidden beneath that fear.

"He hasn't hurt anyone," Stiles continued. "Just because your enemies made him to use against you doesn't make any of that his fault."

Derek knew what Peter would say. He would say that having a clone of him around was a risk, that Bee was a weapon to be used against him and it was too dangerous to let him continue to exist. But while Peter's opinions might have been the right decisions for a ruler, that didn't make them right in any other way. Stiles though, Stiles wanted to do the right thing, wanted to help people. If he thought that Bee wasn't at fault, then Derek should at least give the clone a chance to explain himself. But probably not right now.

Derek waved his guards forward.

"Secure him in one of the crew quarters," he ordered. He hoped Stiles would understand. There was a war going on out there and he couldn't deal with this right now, but he wasn't treating Bee like a criminal. He wasn't calling for the cells.

"There's someone else you really should be locking up," Stiles said. Derek looked again at the hatch of the shuttle. Scott and Kira were hauling someone out, an unconscious figure that Derek recognised only from intelligence reports. He'd never met this man before in his life, but he knew exactly who he was: Gerard Argent. The man whose family had plotted to murder his, the man who arranged terrorist attacks that slaughtered hundreds of innocent people, the man who didn't care who he hurt so long as he got what he wanted.

"The cells," Derek told Scott, who nodded. He and Kira continued towing the man out. 

"And this is Tara," Stiles said, indicating a woman who Derek didn't recognise at all. "She doesn't need locking up."

She did look a little battered and somewhat malnourished, so Derek told Melissa to take her to the infirmary to have her injuries checked out. Derek probably should have sent Stiles with them, but Stiles had made it clear he needed to talk to Derek and Derek needed to hear an explanation for all this.And then there was that irrational fear that if he let Stiles go somewhere, something awful might happen to him. Derek started to take Stiles out of the docking bay and back into the main ship, but Stiles couldn't wait to start his explanation.

"You're uncle's still alive."

"What?"

Derek was sure he must have misheard. Or perhaps the ship had been critically damaged and all this was a hallucination caused by oxygen deprivation because that statement made no sense.

"Your uncle, I saw him. And I think it actually is him, despite all the cloning stuff that's going on because he looked the right age and not a teenager. I'm pretty sure he used a clone to fake his death, though I'm not sure entirely how or why yet. I also don't know how he ended up working with Argent but half of the people on that ship were rebels Argent convinced that my dad was brainwashed by you to get them on his side and who had no idea that Peter Hale was there at all."

Derek's mind was still reeling. He didn't understand how any of this was possible. Peter couldn't be alive. He'd spent the past two years adjusting to being the ruler of the empire, knowing that Peter wasn't there to guide him anymore. He wanted to just deny every word coming out of Stiles' mouth, to refuse to accept it. He didn't think Stiles would lie to him, especially not about something so important, but Stiles had never met Peter, never seen him face to face. It was entirely possible that some imposter had Stiles fooled.

But was that just wishful thinking?

That thought caught Derek by surprise. Not long ago, he would have been delighted to find out that his uncle was still alive. He would have loved the opportunity to give up this leadership role and step back into the shadows behind his uncle's rule. But now, the thought of Peter being back, judging him for his failures and going back to the policies and injustices Derek was trying to put right, all of that was horrifying. He might still miss him at times, but Derek realised now that he didn't want his uncle to be alive. The galaxy was a better place with Peter dead.

Assuming Stiles was wrong.

He'd wanted to believe that Stiles was wrong before, when he'd argued about policies and government programs. He hadn't been then. So how could Derek just take it for granted that he was now?

What if Peter really was alive? He thought back to the reports of the shuttle accident, the reports on the remains, identified by DNA tests because the body was blown to pieces. The volume of organic matter matching Peter's DNA had been enough to be certain that he was dead, but if there was another person with the same DNA, then those reports were meaningless.

"Where is he?" Derek asked.

"He was on that ship," Stiles answered. "the last time I saw him, he was pretty close to the engine room, so here's hoping he was blown to pieces in the impact with the station."

"But you don't believe that?"

"Not really. I unsealed the locks between sections so that the crew could make it to lifepods, so there's a good chance he will have made it to one. And that's if he was even still in that half of the ship. He might still be sealed in the wreckage of the other half. There was maybe an hour between the last time I saw him and us taking over the ship."

So much uncertainty. At least if Peter was trapped in wreckage or sealed inside an escape pod, he wouldn't be able to do much damage, but there were enemy ships out there. One of them might pick up the life pod and then Peter might do anything.

"Are you OK?" Stiles asked.

Before Derek could even start to figure out where to start answering that question, his comms buzzed. A part of Derek was afraid that it would be Peter, announcing to the galaxy that he was back and that Derek was an imposter, but it was Lydia calling from the bridge.

"Five ships have just dropped out of jump," she said. "They've declared allegiance to you and want orders. Two cruisers, two lightweight fighters, and a supply freighter."

"How convenient that they happen to declare their loyalty immediately after we take out a sizeable chunk of Coriolis," Derek said.

"We?" asked Stiles, back to sounding smug. Derek glared at him but didn't dignify that with a reply.

"Do you want me to say that to them?" Lydia asked.

"See if you can find some way to diplomatically imply that we think they were waiting to see who was likely to win before declaring their side, but don't make any outright accusations. Hold the freighter back at the edge of the system, send the cruisers to join up with Braedan's forces, and have the lightweight fighters go in close to take out any weapons platforms and towers close to the station."

"Yes, sir."

Lydia ended the comm. Derek couldn't focus all his thoughts on Peter, no matter how much he might want to, or on the fact that Stiles was here with him again, because there was still a battle going on. However bitter he might be about these new ships and their suspicious timing, it was a good sign that they'd come in. The fact that they had declared for him meant that they thought he was going to come out of this on top and with the extra firepower, that might actually be true.

Not very long ago, he'd been expecting to die at any moment and now he was seriously contemplating the possibility of winning.

These new arrivals might just be the first wave. Other captains might bring their ships in hoping to be part of the victory and so cement themselves rewards and influence when the dust settled.

Peter was a major concern, but Derek didn't have the luxury of focusing on only one concern.

"Come on," he said. "I should be on the bridge."

"You want me to come with you?" Stiles asked.

"No. I want you safe and secure lightyears from here, but it seems I'm not going to get want I want."

Derek started for the elevators, Stiles hurrying along beside him.

"You know, some people would say thank you for pretty much winning this battle for you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Your father did a lot of damage first, Braedan's pilots had kept us alive, and it was Lydia's quick thinking that let us get boarding parties onto the station. You can't take too much of the credit."

"But you still think I deserve some credit." He was sounding smug again.

"You could have gotten killed in a hundred different ways," Derek said with a glare.

"Aw, were you worried about me?"

"I need your father's ships and he won't work with me if you get killed."

But Stiles was grinning, as though he knew that everything Derek had just said was a lie.

"You were worried about me."

Fortunately, Derek was saved from having to answer by the elevator doors opening. He stepped out onto the bridge. Lydia was in his chair, comm screen open, and there was Boyd's face on the display, the lower portion of his face hidden behind a breather mask.

"I was just about to call you," Lydia said, quickly standing so that Derek could resume his place and talk to Boyd.

"Sir," Boyd said, "We have taken control of the life support systems for the inner ring and hub of the station and we're pumping the air with knock-out gas. I'm sure some of the enemy will have breathers of their own, but we should see reduced resistance when we go for the hub."

"Hold off on that assault for the moment," Derek said. He told his comm officer to open up a signal to broadcast across the system and he once again called on the enemy to surrender.

"The commanders who were giving orders on Coriolis were traitors against me and the empire," Derek said, "who attempted to use their positions of authority to take power for themselves, but those of you who have served under them will be shown mercy if you surrender now. Prolonging this fight will just cause more loss of life. Surrender now. Hand over those who were responsible for giving the orders, and you will be spared."

He had called for a surrender at the start of this fight, but that was before he'd had reinforcements and nearly a third of their station had been destroyed in one go. There had to be a lot of people onboard who were worried that this fight might end in their deaths. He just needed one to send the signal, the first domino to fall, and the will to fight for the others would crumble.

For a very long minute, nothing happened and Derek began to fear that nothing would. He would be forced to send Boyd in to try and take the heart of the station at great risk.

But then a signal came in, broadcasting from one of the docking arms that poked out of the station structure, away fro the main fight and relatively undamaged.

"Overlord Hale, sir," said the man whose face appeared on the screen, "I run one of the docking crews. We don't know anything about treason, we just refuel the ships that come in and handle the cargo. We're not combatants, but for what it's worth, my team surrenders."

As Derek had hoped, nearly as soon as the message was done and the surrender accepted, the first of the fighters powered down its weapons and the crew asked for mercy. Within fifteen minutes, the station weapons were powered down and the command crew, or what were still conscious of them, had surrendered to Boyd's boarding party.

Somehow, they had won. But Derek still fight a knot of tension in his chest. The worst part wasn't over yet, not for him, because if Stiles was right, then Peter was somewhere out there among the rubble and the wreckage. Derek had no idea how he was going to deal with that.


	59. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a few people were surprised that Stiles was on the shuttle instead of an enemy, but I had to get Stiles and Derek back in the same location. I know I warned that this would be slow build, but I can't have them lightyears apart if I ever want this to be Sterek. :)

There were about a million things to do and Derek wasn't sure who to trust with half of them. Boyd and Erica were in charge of the prisoners on the station, keeping them all secured until he could make some judgement on who should be blamed and who would be pardoned. He told Stilinski to go through the wreckage for survivors. He would be the best placed to know who from Stiles' stolen ship were loyal to the rebels and who had been working for Argent, or worse, Peter. He had ordered that his own flagship be responsible for plucking the lifepods out of space, because that was where Stiles thought they were most likely to find Peter.

He left Scott in charge of that, with Kira backing him up. It was a massive responsibility for people who had only just come aboard this ship, but they already knew that Peter was still alive and Derek wanted to keep the number of people aware of that particular secret to a minimum. Scott was under orders to check the identity of every person they retrieved before the pods were unsealed. The occupants were all to be secured, but with different categories depending on how they matched up to information provided by Stilinski and Tara. Those who were known to be loyal to Argent were sent to the cells. Those who were known to be loyal to Stilinski were taken to a mess hall, where they would be confined by security cuffs and a light guard, but otherwise free to eat or mingle with each other or make use of some entertainment devices that had been provided. They would be transferred to rebel ships as soon as could be arranged. Those who Scott couldn't identify were secured in crew quarters. And if Scott came across Peter, he was to send for Derek immediately.

The rest of the ships were on clean-up duty for everything that wasn't alive, clearing away the rubble, securing the weapons platforms, and making sure that damaged equipment wasn't going to blow them all to pieces by accident. They couldn't just leave everything floating out there if they wanted to make clean jumps in and out of the system.

Derek set Lydia and Danny to work going through the files from Coriolis, looking over the research that was being done there, drilling into Deucalion's activities, or, in a lot of cases, trying to get through multiple layers of encryption to figure out what the files even were. He set Stiles to work on a different set of files. He wanted Stiles to go through the communications logs, official orders, unofficial chats, and vast quantities of security footage to figure out who on that base should be held responsible for acts of treason, and who would be released once the dust settled.

"Ugh," Stiles said, as he brought up the file information on a projector. "That is a ridiculous amount of data to go through."

"If you didn't want to get given work to do, you should have stayed away from the battle, like I wanted," Derek told him.

"Hey, I got captured," Stiles said. "You can't punish me for that."

"This isn't punishment. This is a vital application of your unique skills."

"It feels like punishment."

"If it was punishment, you'd be chained to that desk. As it is, you're free to take bathroom breaks or go get food and sleep when you need it."

Stiles was no longer wearing a security cuff, so there wasn't really a way for his movements to be controlled right now even if Derek did want to. He wasn't going to suggest cuffing Stiles though. After everything he'd done and the difference he'd made to the battle, Derek couldn't imagine treating him like a prisoner again.

"Speaking of sleep," Stiles said, "you look kinda rough there yourself, buddy. You might want to think about a nap."

"There's too much to do."

"And there will still be too much to do in a few hours from now. Seriously, you should go sleep for a couple of hours and then face the work nice and fresh."

"What about you?"

"I'm still too wired right now. I'll work for a bit and then probably crash, let the boredom of going through conversation logs act as a sedative."

Derek decided to let Stiles handle his own sleeping arrangements. He had a bunk if he wanted to use it and no one was going to complain about him not being in a certain place at an expected time. Derek could focus on him and the fact was that he was tired, Stiles was right. He was so tired that he made it halfway to his quarters before he realised that Stiles had called him buddy and he had just let it slip past him. He wasn't sure what to make of receiving a casual term of endearment from Stiles except as more evidence that they were both sleep-deprived. But did this mean that Stiles thought of him as a friend, at least on some level?

He was still wondering that as he made his way into his quarters and collapsed, still fully dressed, onto his bed.

He woke, head groggy and eyes heavy, to an incessant buzzing noise. It took several long moments to realise it was his comms and make a grab for it. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep but he felt more tired now than he had done earlier.

"What?" he snarled into his comms.

"Sir," said Lydia, and he must have sounded terrible for her to be formal, "Stilinski is signalling from his ship. They've completed their retrieval of stranded people and he wants to meet you face to face to discuss the next actions."

Derek dragged a hand over his face, trying to wake up. Why had he thought a nap was a good idea?

"Arrange for him to transfer over," Derek said. "I'll meet with him."

Maybe Stilinski wanted to meet face to face because he'd found Peter. Maybe he wanted to check on Stiles. Maybe, now that the battle was over, he planned to assassinate Derek. He really hoped that wasn't the case because his bodyguards were still on the station and he was so sluggish that if Stilinski tried to fight him, he probably wouldn't even notice until he was dead.

He didn't really think that Stilinski was going to kill him, at least the likelihood was small enough that he didn't worry too much about precautions. Making arrangements for Stilinski to be searched might be the appropriate reaction according to Peter's teachings, but Derek was going to trust the man who had helped save him through that battle and who had been instrumental in bringing about victory. He headed down to the docking bay and got there just as the shuttle was powering down.

Derek was considerably more restrained about greeting Stilinski than he had been about Stiles, but he still walked across the bay to greet him in person. Stilinski betrayed a hint of surprise at the personal welcome.

"Did you find Peter?" Derek asked.

"No. I take it from that question that you didn't either?"

"No."

Derek had used a narrow broadcast to Stilinski to give him post-battle instructions and so had told him the news Stiles had given him. Both of them were working on a short version of Stiles' story because there was so little time that they hadn't had a chance to hear all the details. At this moment, Stilinski knew almost as much as Derek did, about everything except the existence of Bee.

"I need to know what's going on here," Stilinski said. "If we're going to work together, I expect information. How can Peter Hale be alive? But more importantly, I need to know what you've done with my people. I understand that there were rebels who were loyal to me on that ship, before Argent convinced them I was brainwashed. I demand a say in what happens to them."

Peter would have refused on principle, because an overlord should never give in to someone who attempted to make demands of them. But Derek wasn't Peter and Derek really wanted those people off his ship because he sure as hell didn't know how to deal with them.

Derek pulled out his comm to talk to Scott, only to see the automatic notification that he was sleeping. Rather than wake him up, Derek checked and was pleased to see that there was a file sent from Scott about half an hour previously. It was the list of people pulled out of lifepods and where all of them had been stowed. He showed the file to Stilinski, using a mini projector to bring up the header of the file and a quick preview.

"You can go through this list and decide which of them you want to transfer onto your ships. There's also the woman who was with Stiles, Tara, you can take her with you when you leave as well."

"You will just let me take them?"

"There are several hundred people still alive on board Coriolis that I need to deal with. You can decide what should be done with your former people or with Argent's followers. If it convinces some of them that I'm not the source of all evil, so much the better." As an afterthought, Derek said, "But Argent stays here. I do what to deal with him myself."

"Alright. I guess I should start going through your list, but first I want to see Stiles."

Derek nodded. "You can use his office to work if you like."

He led the way into the ship, aware of Stilinski looking sideways at him as they walked.

"I expected a lot more argument from you," Stilinski said.

Saying that he was too tired right now to argue was probably not a sensible choice. Making some grand speech about unity and how they could all work together for a better galaxy was also something he was too tired for.

"We don't have to be enemies," was what he settle on. He was expecting something of an argument about that point, but Stilinski remained quiet and they made it the rest of the way to Stiles' office in silence.

Inside, it seemed Stiles had been right that he was going to crash. He was asleep, bent over the edge of his chair in a way that looked both precarious and uncomfortable.

"I did give him quarters with an actual bed," Derek said, just in case Stilinski thought this was proof that Derek had been abusing Stiles.

"This is normal for him," Stilinski said, with a fond smile. "You try and get him to go to sleep at a decent time in a normal bed and every little thing has to be perfect. He's got to have the right pillow and the right light level and the right amount of air circulation. But once he gets into working on something, he will keep working on it until he just shuts down and falls asleep however he happens to be, usually in the most ridiculous position it's possible to get into."

In this case, Derek suspected that the reading material had probably played a part in sending Stiles to sleep, given his comments about how boring it was going to be.

"Should we wake him?" Derek asked.

"No. Leave him be. If you wake him now, it will be two days before you can get him to fall asleep again."

So Derek took Stilinski down the hall to an empty office he could use. There was a projector there already so Derek logged itno the computer and loaded the file from Scott. Stilinski was watching him again, a serious look on his face.

"He could have come back to me," he said, once Derek was done adjusting the computer to keep Stilinski out of anything except the file in question.

"What do you mean?" Derek asked.

"Stiles. When the Deliverance blew, that shuttle could have come to my ship just as easily as yours, but he went for your ship."

Derek hadn't even considered that. He'd seen Stiles come back, come charging into the battle, and been working on the assumption that the primary motivation was to protect his dad. He hadn't thought about the fact that Stiles didn't immediately go to his dad once the ship he was on fell apart around him.

"Perhaps my ship was closer," Derek said, "or the docking bay more accessible." He would have to check the logs of the battle to be sure.

"Not by much," Stilinski said, "and that wouldn't have made a hell of difference to Stiles if he wanted to come back to me."

The thought that had been so central in his mind before falling asleep came back to him then, bringing with it a warm glow like a hug from the inside.

"He called me buddy. After the battle, we were both pretty tired so I don't know if he meant anything by it, but he called me buddy."

"Stiles has never had a great many friends. His energy, his manner of jumping from interest to interest, his intensity, all of that has often made it difficult for him to find people who want to be friends with him, but the friends he does make, he will stick with through thick and thin, no matter what. If Stiles considers you a friend, you damn well better deserve that loyalty."

"I'll do my best," was all Derek could say to that.

Stilinski gave a solemn nod. "You know, I think you will."


	60. Chapter 54

Stiles woke up with a start and promptly fell off the chair he'd been dangling out of. Stopping the fall with his head was not the best way to wake up. He sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead and trying to regain some sense of where the hell he was and what was happening. The familiar surroundings of his office on Derek's ship brought back the rest of his memories. He'd been trying to work out who should be held accountable of those on Coriolis, which was a massive problem because even with communication logs and security footage, it was hard to know what anyone had known at any time and there was such a ridiculous amount of data that even the best search algorithms were going to result in a lot of files to go through.

Stiles stared up at the projected files and the personnel records he'd been trying to shift into some form of order, and wasn't sure he could face starting all that again. The task was so big that it felt like he'd never be able to finish it.

He pulled himself back into his chair and decided to see if the computer would let him see where Derek was on the ship. He expected to get an access denied, no matter how many files Derek had granted him access to, because the live location information was sensitive for anyone on the ship but especially when it came to the overlord, but the locator tool opened up without issues. His next expectation might have been to find Derek in his quarters or on the bridge, but the tool indicated that he was only a few doors down from Stiles. It was almost like fate.

He got to his feet, rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair in the hope that it would help him look a little more awake, and then he walked down to the door the computer had indicated. These offices didn't have any way to request entry, so Stiles just opened the door. He'd known Derek would be inside. His dad was a definite surprise.

"Hey, kiddo." His dad was in front of him in a heartbeat, arms opening wide. Stiles let himself fall into the hug, relaxing against his dad's comforting presence for a long moment. With the battle and everything that had happened around it, he hadn't really let himself process the fact that his dad was alright. He did so now, wrapped in his dad's arms, enveloped in a hug that felt like safety no matter where he was or what was happening.

"Hey, Dad."

"How are you feeling?"

"Feeling fine. My lungs are good as new."

"We'll let Melissa be the judge of that," Derek said. "She needs to give you a clean bill of health because you can do anything strenuous."

"Ugh, you're starting to get sappy with all this fussing over me," Stiles complained, because he couldn't let on in front of his dad that he liked the fact Derek cared about what happened to him. His dad might get the wrong idea and think that there was something going on between them. He changed the subject to make sure that didn't happen. "So, what's next on the agenda? What did I interrupt?"

"We were talking about transferring the rebel crew over to my ships," his dad said, "but now that you're awake, we can talk about how the hell you ended up taking over the Deliverance."

Stiles let himself be hustled over to a seat and then he started telling his story from the beginning, from the moment that what he thought were rebel ships came out of jump. He told them about the ruse with Scott and how Melissa's quick thinking had probably saved them all. He told them about making his way through the ship trying to find the others and how he'd stumbled upon Bee.

Derek tensed up at that part and Stiles' dad just looked astonished. He hadn't known about Derek's clone and Stiles wondered, a little too late, if maybe Derek had wanted to keep it that way. He carried on with the story anyway, explaining about his deal with Bee, how he'd found Scott, and then what he'd seen of Peter. He tried to remember every detail he'd heard from Peter, not that he'd had a chance to see much. There was one important detail though.

"Peter knew about me. He obviously hadn't seen a picture because he thought Scott was me, but someone had told him who I was and that I was intelligent. He must know that I've been doing research for you."

"There aren't many people who know the details of that," Derek said.

"Yeah, but they don't need to know details to know it's happening. We haven't exactly been secretive about it and I've talked about it in the mess with your security trio. Half the ship probably know vaguely that I'm doing research for you and if someone's actively looking for that information, it wouldn't be hard to find."

"You think I have a spy on my ship."

"It's a safe bet."

Derek looked angry about that, lips pressed tightly together, but not particularly surprised. If Peter was still out there, working against him, then he had to have people loyal to him. It was logical that Peter would want to keep some of his minions close to his nephew. But just because it was logical didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. Stiles started to reach out a hand, wanting to put it on Derek's arm or something, to give him a little bit of comfort, but he was aware of his dad sitting right there and he stopped himself before the gesture went too far.

He thought his dad might have narrowed his eyes at him anyway, so Stiles hurried on with his story. He talked about rescuing Scott and finding Tara and persuading her to help them out, and then on to the battle on the bridge.

"I can't believe that Tara agreed to bring a ship like Deliverance back into a battle situation with you on board," his dad said.

Stiles looked away. "That might have been less of an agreement and more of me, well, just bringing the ship here before anyone could notice what I was doing and stop me."

Stiles thought Derek might start making threats about hobbling again, so he hurried on, "But it worked and we totally kicked ass."

"You destroyed a perfectly good ship by taking it to jump and forcing an exit too near gravitational masses," his dad said.

"You and I might have different definitions about what counts as a perfectly good ship," Stiles said. His dad didn't seem convinced.

"The rebellion doesn't have ships to spare."

"Yeah, but it's not like you need them now that you and Derek are on the same side."

His dad looked at him as though that thought had never occurred to him. This wasn't a war now, not between Derek and his dad. Even if there were rebels out there who still thought of Derek as the enemy, his dad wasn't one of them. Stiles hoped.

"We'll talk about that later," his dad said, which was a little less hopeful but not conclusive. Maybe Stiles could convince Derek to put his dad in charge of the military now that Deucalion was a traitor and dead. That way, Stiles' dad couldn't rebel without fighting himself. Maybe he just needed to argue with his dad more when Derek wasn't present.

"Did you stumble on any other galaxy-changing revelations while you were away?" Derek asked.

"What? The ones I've given you aren't big enough?" Stiles teased.

"They're plenty big enough, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't made contact with an alien species or encountered a lost civilisation while you were at it."

"Nope. Dead uncles not being dead and mysterious clones are my limit so far."

"And the data from Coriolis?"

"I barely scratched the surface. It's going to be a nightmare trying to figure out who should be held culpable for anything." He supposed he should get back to that and leave his dad to whatever it was he'd been doing with Derek, but the thought of going back to all those communication logs was one he couldn't face. "Ugh."

"Is it really that awful?" Derek asked.

"I can think of about a billion more interesting things to research. Can I help dig into the secret cloning research instead? That sounds much more fun."

He saw Derek's whole body tighten with tension and realised that maybe it wasn't a good idea to describe as fun the secret plot to replace Derek, trick him into thinking his sister was still alive, and create a replica of Peter that was used to fake his death.

"I should probably talk to him," Derek said. He sounded like that thought was about as appealing as being thrown out an airlock. For Derek, it probably was, what with the whole 'talking' thing.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stiles asked.

"Are you offering just to avoid looking at communications logs a little longer?"

"No. Maybe. But there are other avoidance tactics I can use if you don't want me with you. I could just go get something to eat. Actually, now that I say that, maybe that's not a bad idea anyway. And has anyone thought about giving Bee food? I don't know when he would have had his last meal but it must be a few hours ago now."

Derek's tension melted slightly and there was a slight hint of a smile touching his lips. "Let's go get him some food then."

Stiles returned the smile before turning to his dad, "Are you coming with us?"

"I should see about talking to my people and transferring them back over to rebel ships," he answered, "but after that, I would like to be involved in any interrogations of Argent."

"We don't need to get him dinner," Stiles said. "He can stew without food for a bit longer."

"Careful," Derek replied. "It almost sounds like you're suggesting we mistreat a prisoner through limiting his food. I hear that's something tyrants do."

"Has anyone ever told you you're an asshole?"

"Very rarely. There are perks of being a tyrant."

It was good that Derek was able to joke. He was clearly still stressed and the thought of facing his clone must have been awful for him, but if he was able to poke fun at Stiles, things weren't too bad. Stiles was glad that he would be by Derek's side through the upcoming conversation, because he suspected Derek would need him as much as Bee would.

Stiles gave his dad a quick hug goodbye and made him promise not to go anywhere without seeing him, not that he thought that was likely, and then he set off with Derek on the quest to find Derek's clone.

On their way back to the crew quarters, Derek said, "If going through the Coriolis records is going to be that bad, I can always get someone else involved. It just didn't seem that different to what you did with Harris."

"The difference is volume. With Harris, I was focused on a single project, trying to identify who was involved with that, but with Deucalion we're talking about major acts of treason dating back to before you became overlord. If Peter faked his death to avoid Deaucalion, then that means Deucalion was plotting for years. It's the same probably but the scale is bigger by several orders of magnitude."

"Do you want a team?"

"A... A team? You'd give me actual subordinates and put me in charge of a group of people?"

"It sounds like this needs more than one pair of eyes."

"A team is probably a good idea, but I don't think I should be the one to run it." As much as Stiles liked the idea of bossing around subordinates, the fact that his mind leapt first to that idea was probably proof of why he didn't have the right temperament to be in charge of a team. He wasn't sure a group of people could handle his approach to work without extensive selection testing to find people with precisely the right styles. But it was more than just thinking he wasn't right for the job.

"This is as much about politics and perception as it is actually doing the right thing," Stiles said. "If I run an investigation from on board your warship, using your resources, and having discussions with you as I progress, then it doesn't matter how fair I try to be, people are always going to assume that there's some sort of bias or corruption going on. You need an investigation that can be fair and impartial, and that the general public will believe are fair and impartial. If you want the galaxy to believe that you're serious about rooting our corruption, you have to start off on the right foot with this."

Derek nodded. "I was putting together an independent team to investigate cases of corruption in the military disciplinary proceedings. I can use that team to investigate here."

"It makes sense. Unfortunately, you can't just lock everyone up until the investigation is over because there are so many people involved and the investigation is likely to take years. You'll probably be able to keep the officers imprisoned but the general crew would need to be released while the lawyers and judges and people like that get everything tidied up."

"Probably," Derek agreed. He didn't look happy about that, which made sense given that they were talking about people who had tried to kill him and who had been involved in the cloning, but wild acts of vengeance were not a sensible option when he was trying to convince a rebellion to take his side. On that note...

"The whole independence thing is important in other areas too," Stiles said. "You can't know who in your command structure was involved in Deucalion's plot and who wasn't, and if you put the wrong person in charge, they might destroyed evidence to prevent the investigation identifying them. You're going to need someone in charge of your military who you know had no connection to Deucalion."

Derek looked sideways at him, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Do you think your dad would accept such a job offer?"

Of course he'd figured out exactly who Stiles was implying, but his question suggested he was taking the idea seriously. He wasn't dismissing it out of hand and that had to be worth something. This was far from what Stiles had expected when he'd first been kidnapped and brought here as a hostage.

"I don't know," Stiles admitted. "It couldn't hurt to ask."

Derek nodded. "But first, we have to figure out what to do with Bee."

They had reached the door to the room he'd been assigned. Derek stood outside for a long while, staring at the closed door. Stiles wasn't sure what emotion was keeping Derek from taking the next step. Anger at what had been done to him? Fear that Bee might be an enemy? Pity for the boy grown to be a weapon? Or was Derek thinking in terms of strategy and bracing himself to do something awful for the sake of security?

Stiles really hoped it wasn't that last one. He didn't want to believe Derek would do anything to Bee. He hoped Derek would see Bee as the victim he was. But Derek was also a victim here and Stiles couldn't forget that. He reached out and placed a hand on Derek's arm, a light touch of comfort. Derek looked down at that hand as though it was some strange, incomprehensible, foreign thing. His eyes flicked back up to Stiles' face and to the comforting smile Stiles tried to offer him.

"It'll be alright," Stiles told him, whether he was sure it was true or not. Derek gave a small nod and opened the door to the room his clone had been put in.


	61. Chapter 55

Derek had thought he was more prepared to see his clone a second time, but the sight of that face that looked so much like his own still came as a shock. Bee was sitting on the bed, watching some entertainment video on the room's inbuilt computer. He paused the video the moment the door opened and looked at them with wariness on his face. Derek wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully Stiles never let that stop him.

"How come he gets to use the computer?" he complained. "When I was first brought here, everything was locked down so all I had to watch were those safety procedure videos designed to freak you out about the possibility of hull breach or asteroid collision. Why is he allowed to see more stuff than I was?"

Derek wasn't sure whether Stiles was truly offended by this or if he was just trying to ease some of the tension by drawing attention to something innocuous, or relatively so. The truth was that when Derek had given the order to have Bee put in crew quarters, he had been too busy with a hundred other things to give the order to restrict computer access and it seemed that the security officers who'd done the job of putting Bee here hadn't been as thorough as Boyd and Danny. Admitting a failure of planning in front of Bee wasn't how he planned on starting this conversation though.

"Consider it a complement," he said instead. He turned to Bee, "Are you hungry?"

Bee looked at him warily, as though expecting this to be a trap. "Yes."

"Come with us. We'll take you to get some food."

Bee still looked like he thought they might be trying to trick him, but he walked with them out of the room. Derek probably should have called Isaac back so that he had some sort of security presence on hand in case Bee tried something, but looking at the nervous teenager, it was harder to see him as a threat. Perhaps Stiles was right and he really was a victim here more than anything else.

They went to a mess hall that wasn't being used for temporary storage of rebel prisoners, and the place was almost deserted. The few people who were there were eating quietly with looks of exhaustion on their features. Bee seemed to relax a little on seeing them, on seeing that they really were in a place for food, but he was still a little nervous as Derek took him to the food dispenser. Derek verified his identity and selected the choice option, bring up a menu of meals that could be provided of the highest quality level. It couldn't hurt if he wanted to get Bee on their side. Derek selected a steak dinner for himself and then asked Bee what he wanted.

Bee stared wide-eyed at the options available to him. When it became clear that Bee was struggling to know what to do, Stiles stepped forward, scanning the choices quickly.

"Ooh, burger and curly fries. I haven't had curly fries in... well, since I had an actual home on a planet at least."

He made his selection and retrieved his food tray from the slot. Bee stepped forward and selected exactly the same option that Stiles had. That was interesting. Probably he was worrying about them poisoning him, but it was odd that he would choose to copy Stiles instead of Derek, since it was even less likely that Derek would poison himself. Or maybe Derek was overthinking this.

They sat down at one of the long tables and Stiles shoved a couple of fries in his mouth, making nearly indecent sounds of pleasure as he did so. Bee didn't touch his food. Derek wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Do you want to swap?" Stiles asked.

Bee shook his head and started eating. Apparently the fact that Stiles would offer to swap was enough to convince him that his food was safe. Bee took a few careful bites and then started devouring everything with wild enthusiasm. Derek gave him a minute to eat before he started what was bound to be an uncomfortable conversation. He couldn't put it off forever though and they needed to hear what Bee had to say.

"Stiles has told me how he found you and what you did to help him," Derek started with.

Bee glanced at Stiles, who nodded encouragingly, but he didn't say anything.

Derek couldn't just ask this boy if he planned on murdering him and trying to take the throne, not if he expected an honest answer, so he considered how else he could approach the topic.

"Stiles also tells me that my uncle used a clone of himself to fake his death."

Bee nodded. "Peter. He was very angry when he found out about Dee."

"Dee?"

"His clone."

Derek did some quick thinking, trying to remember everything Stiles had said. "So you're Bee and Cora's clone was Cee, and Peter's clone was Dee. Who's A?"

He had a suspicion what the answer was going to be, but he needed to hear it. He needed Bee to say it.

"Laura Hale. Ay was Laura Hale's clone."

Derek drew in a shuddering breath. He'd known that answer was coming but it still hurt like a punch to the gut. He'd watched his sister's clone die on the station and it had been like losing Cora all over again. The thought that Laura's clone had been out there and was no longer made something ache deep inside him. He hadn't missed that Bee had used the past tense.

"What happened to her?" he asked.

"Peter. When Peter found out about Dee, he got angry and took us from Coriolis Base, three of us anyway. He didn't manage to get Cee out because Deucalion found out what he was doing. Dee and Ay thought that he might destroy all of us, even though he'd known about the rest of us. They decided to try and fight him and he killed them. I don't know what he did with Ay's body, but he decided to use Dee's to evade Deucalion."

That fit with the other pieces he'd been able to put together. Deucalion must have started actively targeting Peter after the existence of Dee was revealed and Peter had faked his death to escape. Deucalion had known that Derek was entirely ignorant of the plot, so he'd continued his scheming behind the scenes, biding his time before he made a move on Derek. Derek had probably sped up his plans with his wild ideas about cleaning out corruption in the military. Maybe Deucalion had thought that Derek knew something about this plot or maybe he was just concerned that Derek might uncover something by accident.

Much as he would have liked to see Laura again, or some version of her, it was probably much safer if Bee was the only clone left. Assuming he was telling the truth. That was a big assumption, but if he started doubting everything Bee said, this whole interrogation would go nowhere.

"Do you know how Peter ended up working with Gerard Argent?" Stiles asked, while Derek was still thinking about what he should ask next.

"Peter arranged a meeting. He showed me to Argent and suggested that they work together to overthrow you," he looked Derek directly in the eye, "using me as a puppet, so that they could rule together."

"I can't believe my uncle would ever work with an Argent," Derek said. Bee flinched, as though expecting to be hit or hurt because of Derek's lack of belief. It wasn't that Derek thought Bee was lying necessarily, it was just as likely that Peter had been the one lying, probably more so.

"Presumably he was going to double-cross him," Stiles said, as though this was so obvious that he barely needed saying, and Derek suspected he was right. It still didn't make much sense as a plan. What could working with Argent possibly have given Peter that would make it worth living in hiding or risking being double-crossed right back? Derek doubted that asking Bee would get them many answers because Peter wouldn't have confided in him, even if he hadn't been using Bee as a pawn in his machinations. Peter had rarely confided with Derek even when Derek had been his official heir. The fact that Peter had been involved in making clones and had faked his own death without giving Derek so much as a hint about it was proof of how little Peter shared.

"What else do you know about Peter's plans with Argent?" Derek asked, because there was a chance that someone had let something slip or that Bee, growing up in a different environment, had learned to be more observant than Derek apparently had.

"Peter wanted you to do his dirty work for him," Bee said. "You and Deucalion and the main rebel fleet would all be against each other and he told Argent that it would be possible to take out whoever survived and seize power. He told Argent that he would be content to take an advisory role if Argent claimed the throne."

Stiles gave a snort. "And Argent believed him?"

"I don't know."

Derek certainly didn't believe that of Peter. He would never have been content to stand in the shadows and watch someone else rule. It was astonishing that he'd managed to endure this long without announcing his survival and demanding his rightful place at the top of the pecking order. If Argent had stepped up to lead, Peter would have been standing right behind him with a knife in his hand.

"Do you know where Peter would have gone?" Derek asked.

Bee's expression changed instantly to one of alarm. "You don't have him prisoner?"

"We didn't find him in the pods or the wreckage," Stiles said. "It's possible he was on the part of the ship that got obliterated in the impact with the station but..."

He gave a shrug and Derek finished for him, "But it's going to take a lot more to convince me he's dead a second time. So, do you know any hidey-holes he might have run to?"

Bee shook his head.

They asked a few more questions as he and Stiles thought of them but it was obvious that Bee had very limited information that would help them. Derek didn't think that Bee was deliberately keeping anything back, but he had never been in a position to learn what they needed to know. Derek had just about accepted that there was no more point to this interrogation when his comms buzzed. Apparently another fleet ship had arrived, the captain apologising for being late and wanting to swear allegiance to him. Derek would check where the ship had been deployed to figure out the likely journey times before he would decide if he believed that. He would have to speak with the captain though, one way or the other.

"Take him back to his room when you're done here," Derek told Stiles, nodding towards Bee. It was a risk to leave them alone without a real security presence, but a risk Derek thought was minimal. If Bee did try something, there would be enough people around that Stiles could call for help and a minor show of trust might do a great deal of good when it came to convincing Bee to cooperate with them.

Derek left them to go see to the new captain, but he kept his comm out. There was another risk that needed to be taken care of, one that was probably no issue at all but that he would be negligent to ignore. If Bee could access the entertainment programs on the ship's computers, it was possible he would be able to access other information, and other systems. Just because Derek wouldn't have the skills to hack into a ship's vital systems didn't mean that Bee shared his lack of technical aptitude. It was possible Bee had been trained to be a spy by Deucalion's people, so Derek used his comms to signal Danny and asked him to run whatever tests he thought necessary to check whether Bee had accessed anything he shouldn't have done or interfered with the ship in any way. Derek didn't think that Danny would find anything, but he felt better for having asked.


	62. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I am now on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Jessicameats). There's not much on my Pillowfort yet, so I desperately need new people to follow. Let me know if you're on there.

"What's he going to do to me?" Bee asked, as Derek left them alone in the mess to finish their meal.

"Honestly," Stiles said, "I have no idea." He suspected Derek didn't either but he decided not to mention that part. Since Bee still looked worried, he continued, "But he's a good guy. He's not going to hurt you."

"Peter always said he was too weak to be a ruler."

"What Peter considered being weak was what most people with a soul would consider showing basic, human decency, so maybe he's not the best person to take moral lessons from."

Stiles wondered what lessons Bee had been taught. Had Peter given him the same toxic lectures that he'd poisoned Derek with? Or had he not been around enough for that? Had Bee built up whatever moral code he had from scientists who treated him like a lab experiment? Stiles would guess that Bee didn't have many examples of basic, human decency to learn from.

"I'm supposed to take you back to your room when we're done," Stiles said, "but we can stop by my room first to pick up a game board. We could play something together. If you want."

"I'd like that."

It was possible that Bee was humouring him because he was afraid of getting on the wrong side of Stiles, but Stiles decided to take him at his word. It wasn't like Stiles had anything else to be getting on with. He'd basically told Derek to give the investigation into the scope of the treachery to someone else and Derek hadn't given him a new task to complete yet. Stiles could start investigating Argent's motives, but he probably should wait for Derek to actually do the interrogation of Argent first, which meant he was just killing time while Derek dealt with whatever it was he was doing.

He might as well spend some time giving Bee company because he knew how tedious it could be to be locked up and isolated. Stiles wanted Bee to be on their side and every moment of treating him like a person worthy of kindness had to be a step in the right direction for that.

***

Derek had the conversation with the captain, who might actually have come to join him the moment he sent out his message. He took note of the man's name and sent the ship out on a patrol.

Then he realised he should make another announcement. He spent a little time working up a simple speech and then ran a new broadcast, announcing the defeat of the traitors, informing the galaxy that the survivors of Coriolis base had surrendered, and explaining that there would be an independent investigation into all crew on the space station to see which of them had been involved in the conspiracy. He promised mercy for those who were uninvolved and those who had surrendered and who would cooperate in the investigation. He made it clear that he only wanted those guilty of deliberate criminal acts to be punished.

He made sure that the broadcast would be shown to those held on Coriolis as well as the rest of the galaxy.

He didn't mention Peter.

With that done, he wanted to go to sleep again. There was still so much to do and Argent remained in the cells, awaiting interrogation. He wanted to be well-rested and attentive when he faced Argent for the first time though. In the end, he went to his office to make arrangements for legal experts to be brought to Coriolis to deal with the investigative mess. He sent a message to Stilinski scheduling the interrogation of Argent for ten hours in the future. Derek was completely out of sync with the ship's day and night cycle by this point, but that would give both of them enough time to get some sleep.

Stiles would probably appreciate being there as well, so Derek stopped by his study to let him know, only to find it empty. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was possible that Stiles had already done the sensible thing and gone to his own quarters to sleep, but given how Derek had found him sleeping earlier, it was doubtful.

He checked on the ship's systems where Stiles was, and discovered that Stiles was in Bee's quarters.

A rush of emotion came over him, making his heart beat faster. It felt like something had crawled inside his guts and was moving around in there. Why was he reacting like this? It wasn't simply concern that Stiles was failing to put his well-being, and his recovery from the poisoning, in enough of a priority and that he was failing to get enough rest. It wasn't fear that Bee would hurt him. From what Derek had seen, the combination of Bee's nervousness and desire for self-preservation would keep Bee from hurting Stiles if nothing else, and Derek hadn't seen anything that resembled real malice in Bee.

So why did the thought of Stiles in Bee's quarters upset him so much?

If Stiles was being nice to Bee, it didn't hurt anyone and it might keep Bee as an ally instead of an enemy. That was a good thing. And it was good that Stiles had someone to talk to, since there were few opportunities for socialising in his current circumstances.

Derek tried to tell himself all this but the thoughts didn't seem to have any effect on the discomfort he was feeling at the thought of Stiles in that small room with Bee, sitting on that bed since there was no other furniture, and...

His mind didn't want to continue with the mental picture, didn't want to consider what Stiles might be doing on that bed with Bee. Perhaps just talking. Perhaps... doing other things.

At least Derek now had a name for that feeling writhing inside him like something living, a monster eating at his insides. Jealousy. He was jealous about Stiles being with Bee.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of his own emotional state. He hadn't been jealous when Isaac had tried befriending Stiles, or when Lydia had spoken highly of his intelligence, or when he had become friendly so fast with Scott. Those things hadn't bothered him, but even the possibility that there might be something between Stiles and Bee was enough to fill him with this all-consuming sensation, an emotional reaction so strong that it felt like something physical. The possibility of Stiles liking Bee was so much more distressing than the possibility of him liking anyone else in the galaxy.

Perhaps it was because Bee was in some ways him. If Stiles chose Bee over Derek, it wouldn't be because Derek was fundamentally not his type, it would be because of the differences in their interactions, their history. If Stiles chose Bee over Derek, it would be because of what Derek had done and that thought was enough to fill him with despair.

He'd dismissed Erica's comments when she'd hinted that there might be something between Derek and Stiles, he hadn't let himself think about it much until Stiles had been hurt and he'd realised how much Stiles meant to him. He'd been so afraid when he'd thought he might lose Stiles, but now he might lose him in a different way and that hurt almost as much. A part of him wanted to charge to Bee's quarters and interrupt whatever was happening in there, but that wouldn't be fair to Stiles. He couldn't let his jealousy rule Stiles' life. He'd already taken too much from him already and interfering here would make him less worthy of Stiles, not more.

Besides, he really didn't want to walk into that room and see his worst fears confirmed.

He sent Stiles a message informing him of the time of Argent's interrogation, trusting that he would see it before then. He headed back to his quarters and collapsed down on his bed. He was utterly exhausted and his body needed to sleep, but he couldn't stop his mind working and what his mind wanted to think about was that mental image of Stiles with Bee. With those thoughts circling his skull, it was hard to fall asleep.

***

Stiles left Bee's quarters when they both started yawning so much that conversation was almost impossible and it was clear neither of them was focusing on the game. He had passed out for some indeterminate time earlier but he was still in need of sleep and staying awake probably wasn't good for his recovery process. He'd got to the point where he wasn't sure what time it was according to the ship's cycles, how long it had been since the battle, how long since he'd last slept in a real bed. Sleeping for a few hours in his actual quarters was probably the most sensible choice he could make right now.

He reached his quarters but before he collapsed onto the bed, he saw the message notification icon showing on the room's computer, specifically showing a message from Overlord Hale. Stiles wasn't sure why Derek hadn't talked to him earlier about whatever this was, but he opened up the message and saw the notification of the meeting to interrogate Argent.

He felt a rush of excitement at the thought that Derek trusted him enough to invite him to that meeting, not to mention that he had to have unlocked most of the restrictions on this computer for him to be able to receive his messages on it. He'd known that a lot had changed between him and Derek over the past few days and weeks, knew that Derek appreciated his help, but it was different now. He felt like he'd really been admitted into Derek's inner circle. Derek asked his advice about Bee, about how to handle the Coriolis investigations, about his dad, and now about Argent. It felt nice to be valued but this was somehow more than that.

He thought about the way Derek had interacted with him earlier, teasing him with remarks about being a tyrant because he'd known Stiles would be amused. This wasn't just that Derek had a use for him. Derek actually liked him. But how much? In what manner did Derek like him?

Stiles remembered what he'd thought that time when Derek had invited him to his quarters, remembered the offer he'd made back when he'd still believed Derek to be a monster. The idea wasn't horrifying to him anymore. In fact, it was enticing. He couldn't deny that Derek was attractive and Stiles found himself wondering how deep the like went. Would Derek actually take him up on the idea if he offered it again now?

Stiles collapsed onto his bed but he couldn't shut off his thoughts. His mind kept furnishing him with images of what it might be like if he went to Derek's quarters again. With those thoughts circling his skull, it was hard to fall asleep.


	63. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't disappeared off the face of the earth. I had some stuff I needed to do to get a novel ready for sending to the publisher, and my brain was also attacked by a new book idea that was insistent on being written right away so most of my writing time was taken up by that. 
> 
> There's been family stuff going on over Christmas and things like that, so I've been busy, but this story hasn't been forgotten. 
> 
> I've also [started a YouTube channel](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCTNkMHdRuYyUmucnVydGpvQ) where I talk about writing, offer writing advice, and things like that. This is very new, so I was only on about 30-something views last I checked and there's only a couple of videos so far, but check it out and let me know what you think. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the fic.

Derek managed to sleep for nearly seven hours, despite his difficulty in drifting off. This was enough time to leave him feeling considerably refreshed. A hot shower and a good breakfast took him the rest of the way and he was feeling prepared to face down Argent and force him to talk about his terrorism. He was feeling fairly positive about the whole situation and managed not to think about the situation that had been worrying him as he'd fallen asleep.

At least, not until he walked into the hallway outside the cells and saw Stiles already waiting there, a broad grin on his face. He looked ridiculously cheerful and it was hard not to imagine what might have put that expression on his face.

"Good morning," Stiles said. "Or afternoon. I don't care. Time is relative. Good whatever."

Derek wasn't sure if a coherent response to that ramble was possible, so he settled for, "If you say so," as a reply.

He wondered if Bee was any better at keeping up with Stiles started to ramble or talked rapidly about weird things or ideas. That thought made his scowl deepen.

"What's got you in such a sour mood?" Stiles asked.

"I'm not."

"You are. You're being a real sour puss."

Derek gave him a glare to say exactly what he thought of that assessment.

"What?" Stiles pretended innocence. "You don't like cats? How about a fiercer animal? A sour wolf?"

"Can't you take this seriously?" Derek snapped.

"Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood." Stiles sounded genuinely sorry and Derek felt guilty for snapping. On another occasion, he might have smiled at Stiles' remarks and been glad for them. Before he could say anything, Stiles continued, "I just wanted to know what was bothering you."

"You mean aside from my military attempting to oust me from power, enemies who want me dead, my uncle plotting against me, my own DNA being used against me, and the fact that I'm about to talk to the relative of the people who murdered most of my family and who may very well have been part of that plot?"

"Well, yeah, aside from that because all that was true yesterday and you weren't in such a bad mood then. What's changed?"

"It doesn't matter," Derek said.

Stiles stepped towards him and placed a hand on his arm, fingers warm through the fabric of his shirt. "If there's something wrong, you can talk to me. I want to help."

But Derek couldn't talk to him about this. He couldn't let Stiles see how bitter and jealous he was. He couldn't interfere with Stiles' life any more than he already had if he wanted to be anything close to a good person, and he wanted to be the sort of person who was good enough for Stiles, even if that meant allowing him to be with someone else.

"It's hard not to think about the palace bombing," he said, which was more or less true. Argent had been around then. It was entirely possible that he'd sent his daughter and daughter-in-law to take out the royal family. They had said when they were captured that the plan had been their own, but that was hard to prove one way or the other. It was entirely possible that the man Derek was about to face was the one who had orchestrated the murders of most of his family. That was difficult, and it was infinitely more important than fretting about Stiles' love life.

Derek was glad when Stilinski rounded the corner. He was less glad that Stiles instantly snatched his hand back and stepped away from Derek. Stilinski gave them a narrow-eyed look but said nothing about it. Instead, he asked if there was any particular strategy for the interrogation.

"Don't let on how much we don't know," Derek answered, "or that we don't have Peter. If he thinks we're getting information on him from Peter, he might be more willing to talk, and if he thinks he can throw all the blame on Peter to escape punishment..." He gave a little shrug to finish that thought.

"We also have some of his crew," Stilinski said, "and my people who he tricked into working for him. They won't have been told much, but we can get some information from them if Argent doesn't comply."

Derek nodded. To Stilinski, he said, "You know more about how the rebel groups operated. You may be able to tell better than me if he's lying about something on that front." To Stiles, he added, "Just pay attention and see if you spot anything we miss."

Stiles would have no training in interrogations, but then he'd probably had no training in the research he'd done for Derek. He had proven himself good at spotting patterns, good at working out connections and identifying inconsistencies. Maybe he would notice something about whatever Argent told them.

"This is probably not going to be the only session," Stilinski added. "If you do spot something, don't call him out on it right away. It's always good to know more than they think you know. Try to stay quiet, and we can always talk about things later."

"I don't always remember things later," Stiles said. "I should have brought a computer with a fixed screen so I can make notes without him seeing what I'm writing."

"Go fetch one then," Derek said. He wasn't sure if having Stiles taking notes was going to make a difference, but it would probably help Stiles keep his thoughts in order, since he needed help in that regard, and even if he started writing about something else, Argent might think they were learning about him. Having someone take notes might put him on edge.

Stiles hurried off, leaving Derek alone in the hallway with Stilinski.

"So," Stilinski said, once Stiles was out of sight, "what are your intentions towards my son?"

"I'm not going to imprison or hurt him, if that's what you mean." He'd hoped they were passed this point by now, and Derek actually felt a little hurt that they were clearly back to a place of distrust.

"It wasn't, but that's good to know. I was talking about the fact that he's clearly interested in you."

"He is?"

"The whole hand-on-arm thing," Stilinski said, waving his own hand as if in demonstration.

"He was just trying to be comforting because he knows that facing Argent is difficult for me."

Stilinski gave a little smile, amused by Derek's comment. "If that were the case, if it was purely innocent, he wouldn't have taken his hand off the moment he saw me. He's interested in you and that makes him uncomfortable about showing affection in front of his father."

"Affection," Derek echoed. He had hoped that he and Stiles might reach a place of friendship, but Stilinski was clearly talking about something more than mere friendship.

"He likes you," Stilinski said, "and when Stiles likes someone, he has a tendency to go all in. Whether that's friendship, family or romantic interest, he doesn't do things by halves. So you need to decide how you're going to respond because you're in a position to break my boy's heart."

Derek stared at him, because only a few minutes ago, he'd been worrying about his own heart. "It can't be that serious."

"It can be. It could be. If you let this carry on."

"You want me to stop it, to stop him having... feelings for me."

"Of course I want that. I'm his father and I want to protect him. Even if you weren't a galactic dictator who had kidnapped him, the age difference would have me worrying. Your position of authority, the power you have over him, makes this whole situation extremely precarious. Your situation is inherently unbalanced and it would be very difficult to have a balanced and healthy relationship under these circumstances, so I would very much like for you to shut Stiles down before he gets in any deeper."

Derek considered his words and he couldn't argue with any particular point of what he'd said. The situation with Stiles was difficult and he would always have power over Stiles because of who he was and the position he held. But the thought of simply stopping, of telling Stiles that they could never be any more than whatever the hell they were at the moment, made his stomach lurch in an unpleasant way, the way it had when he'd found out that Stiles was in Bee's quarters. He would be forced to stand by and do nothing while Stiles picked someone else. He wasn't sure he knew how to do that.

But Stilinski wasn't finished. He added, "But I can't make decisions for either of you."

Derek just stared at him. Stilinski wasn't exactly giving him his blessing, but he was acknowledging the possibility of a future relationship without condemning it absolutely. His earlier words were starting to feel more like a warning, not that Derek shouldn't do this but that he should be careful about how he did this, to avoid the potential problems Stilinski was afraid of.

"If you do try something with Stiles," Stilinski carried on, "make sure it's for the right reasons. Don't just have a casual fling with him because you're lonely or because you're curious. Don't play with his feelings or you could end up seriously hurting him."

"I don't ever want to hurt Stiles," Derek said, because it was the one thing about this he was certain of.

Stilinski gave a little nod. "Then you need to think carefully about what it is that you do want and make that perfectly clear to Stiles. Don't play games with him. Don't lead him on if you're not serious about it. You need to communicate exactly what it is you want from him so that there's no room for misunderstanding."

What did Derek want from Stiles? He knew he wanted to keep Stiles safe. He knew he wanted to keep listening to Stiles when he got into impassioned rants on subjects he cared about. He wanted to see Stiles smiling and happy. He wanted... he did want to take Stiles back to his quarters to kiss him and anything else Stiles was willing to let him do. But what did that mean in terms of relationships? Derek didn't exactly have a lot of experience in this area. What would that make Stiles to him? A boyfriend? A lover? A friend who he happened to want to have sex with as well?

Was this a fleeting interest that would fade in time? Or could he be as serious about a relationship as Stilinski seemed to think Stiles was becoming?

Derek knew that if he thought he was in love with Stiles and it turned out to be a temporary distraction then the inevitable, messy break up could seriously hurt Stiles and he needed to make sure that never happened. But would refusing to even consider a possible relationship out of fear of its ending just hurt them both anyway?

He almost wished that Stilinski would just tell him the right thing to do because it was difficult to see through the fog of his own thoughts to find the right path.

Except Stilinski had told him the right action. The sensible thing to do was to close down the possibility of a relationship now, but the more Derek thought about that, the more he wasn't sure he could bear to do it. He didn't want to tell Stiles he wasn't interested in anything more, because he was certain that was a lie. He did want to try to have something with Stiles, but the possibility terrified him.

Stilinski reached out and patted Derek on the shoulder.

"You've got a lot to think about, son," he said.

Another thought bloomed in the back of Derek's mind. This man, who had been his enemy not so long ago, had called him son, while his surviving family member was now apparently his enemy. Maybe it would be better to look for family in someone like Stilinski, someone who could care for his family, who was brave and honourable, who cared about doing the right thing. Maybe if Derek did somehow end up in a relationship with Stiles, Derek would gain a family as well.

That idea made a little glow of hope inside him that did something to drive away the shadows of fear threatening to overwhelm him.

But then Stiles came stumbling along the hallway in an ungainly run and Derek knew he had other things to think about. He had to deal with the terrorist in his cells before he could figure out what he was going to do regarding his feelings. Regarding Stiles.

He looked between the two of them.

"Ready?"

Both Stilinski and Stiles nodded, and Derek went to unlock the door into the cells.


	64. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's alive! 
> 
> This fic is still moving forward. I've been distracted by other fanfic ideas and two books going through editing, but I do intend to keep writing this to its conclusion, however long that might take.

Stiles followed his dad and Derek into the cell, taking a seat in the corner of the room so that he could type notes and observe. It was entirely possible that Argent still didn't know what he looked like, since they'd mistaken Scott for him on the ship, so he might think he was just a secretary now. 

On the other side of the forcefield, Argent seemed utterly unconcerned about the fact he was staring down the most powerful man in the galaxy and a very angry rebel leader. He seemed perfectly calm as he looked between them, all but ignoring Stiles' existence. 

"So it's true that you've betrayed your principles and sided with the enemy," Argent said to Stiles' dad. 

Stiles' dad scoffed. "Like you can talk about principles and betrayal when you allied yourself with Peter Hale, a man who did far worse than this one even dreamed of." He jerked a thumb in Derek's direction. Derek looked like he was trying to figure out if he ought to be offended. 

It was interesting that Argent was trying to establish himself as the morally principled in the room, but Stiles bit his tongue and let his dad's remark on the matter stand without commentary from him. 

"Peter Hale is dead," Argent said. "It was on all the news feeds when it happened." 

"Then how do you explain the man who looked remarkably like him on your ship who you left torturing a teenage boy." 

Stiles had rarely heard his dad sound so angry. The fact that Stiles hadn't been tortured was beside the point, since Argent had thought it was Stiles. He might still think it had been Stiles, given the chaos on the bridge when they'd taken the ship back. 

"Hale has been experimenting with clones," Argent said, "but a clone isn't the same person as the source of the genetic material. They can have different goals and priorities and shouldn't be used as weapons by an evil dictator." 

Stiles couldn't tell whether Argent believed what he was saying or not, or if he was making up this bullshit as he was going along to paint himself as the good guy. If he knew it was a lie, then he had to know that Derek also knew that. Was he trying to convince them he was confused and misled rather than evil? 

Stiles stared at Argent, trying to read his motives in his face, tapping away with one hand on the computer until he realised he'd just typed in a long paragraph of garbage. He deleted the nonsense so that he'd be able to make sense of his notes later. 

"If you believe that you shouldn't hold a clone accountable for the actions of the person they're a clone of," Derek said, "then why was Bee a prisoner?" 

"Bee?" 

"The clone of me. And how do you explain the fact that he's a teenager and Peter's an adult. Even if Peter did try to sell you some bullshit about how he was really a clone, I'm not going to do you the disservice of thinking you're an idiot. You will have noticed the inconsistency. You knew that Peter was really Peter, so why would you work with him? After everything you've done to my family and everything he's done to yours, why would you ally yourself with him?" 

Argent smiled coldly. "I didn't do anything to your family. In that farce you called a trial, Victoria and Kate said that they were acting alone. You can't punish me for their crimes the way you punished an innocent child." 

"I'm not the one who imprisoned Allison. I'm the one who set her free." 

Stiles wondered if there was the faintest hint of surprise on Argent's face. Did he not know that Derek had gone to Allison to set her free from that hellhole planet? Or was Stiles just imagining what he expected to be on Argent's face? 

Derek was still talking. "The person who imprisoned your granddaughter is the same person you were just working with. Why?" 

"Why should it matter what I say? You'll just make up some charges in a sham trial and have an excuse to execute me." 

Stiles could see how angry Derek was, even though he was trying to portray a sense of calm. Stiles had made plenty of accusations of his own about Derek being like Peter, being a tyrant who would punish anyone to make a show, but he knew better now. He'd seen the way Derek wanted to punish those that were guilty in Harris' plot, and now he'd made arrangements for legal experts to weigh in on the military. Derek wanted to justice and it had to hurt him to listen to Argent dismiss him in this way. 

Stiles wanted to speak up, to defend Derek, but he did remember that he'd been told to be quiet. He typed the word asshole into his computer repeatedly to help resist the urge to call Argent that to his face. He just hoped no one would expect his notes to be coherent after this session. 

"Why would I need a sham trial?" Derek said. For a moment, Stiles thought that Derek meant he could just kill Argent here and now, which was technically true but also not like Derek. He wanted to jump up and ask if Derek was alright. But Derek continued, "There is enough evidence of you working with rebels to overthrow the government. You kidnapped multiple people and we have evidence of that. I have no need to invent charges when your actual guilt would be more than enough to convince an impartial jury that you should be imprisoned for the remainder of your life." 

"It would be hypocritical of you to have me arrested for kidnapping when everyone knows that the only way you got Stilinski submitting to your whims is because you kidnapped his son. If anything, I could claim I was rescuing him from his real kidnapper." 

Argent didn't so much as glance in Stiles' direction. Stiles suspected he'd been right to wonder if Argent even knew who he was. It was weird hearing himself talked about as if he wasn't there, but he stayed quiet and continued typing insults into his notes. 

"You would have let Peter Hale torture my son," Stiles' dad said. "You can't pretend for one second that you ever had Stiles' interests at heart. You didn't give a damn about him and you're not fooling anyone, so tell us what's really going on. Why were you working with Peter?" 

It became very clear very quickly that Argent had no intention of telling them anything. He kept going around in circles with them, saying that Peter wasn't really Peter, despite it being clear to all of them that he didn't really believe that, or accusing Stiles' dad of selling out his principles, despite the fact that he'd been working with someone far worse than Derek. He acted as though he was morally superior to the lot of them, the only righteous person despite all the evil he'd done. Stiles couldn't tell if he genuinely believed that or if it was just an act. Either way, it made Stiles want to punch him. 

Derek kept asking about Peter, about his plans, about why the two of them were working together, about whether or not Peter had any allies or anyone else supporting his cause. Derek was trying to dig out information about who or where Peter might go to in the wake of losing his ship, but he was clearly trying to ask in a way that didn't give away that Peter wasn't in another cell somewhere. 

After nearly an hour of Stiles' notes being filled with nothing but colourful insults, Derek said, "This is going nowhere. Perhaps my uncle will be more cooperative." 

Argent gave a dismissive snort, but not in such a way as to suggest he didn't believe Derek about having Peter a prisoner. Perhaps they would be able to bluff something useful out of Argent later. Perhaps boredom might ease his resolve. At the very least, it was better that he was in here rather than out there plotting more innocent deaths. 

Once they were out of the cell, the door firmly sealed behind them, Derek turned to Stiles and said, "You seemed to be writing a lot. Did you figure something out from that nonsense?" 

He sounded so hopeful that Stiles felt almost reluctant to turn his device around to show Derek the vitriol he had poured onto the screen. Derek gave an amused snort. 

"The fact that he's an asshole doesn't tell us anything new," Derek said. Stiles shut the screen off before his dad looked and saw all the language he'd been using. 

"Do you think he actually believes anything he says?" Stiles asked. 

"It's hard to say," his dad answered. "I'm sure he believes some of it. Some of it is just his way of excusing his actions to himself, and some is him excusing his actions to everyone else." 

"He's not likely to talk," Derek said. "He won't believe any offer of leniency I make him. I thought he might turn on Peter out of hatred but..." He gave a shrug. 

"So what are we going to do now?" Stiles asked. 

"We'll give him a day or two to sweat and then see if he will give up anything on Peter. If not, I'll had him over to the lawyers. He can be investigated like everyone else involved in this mess, and there are bound to be plenty of other crimes he can be charged with that have enough evidence to support them without me needing to resort to a sham trial." 

Stiles suspected that Argent's words had stung him. Derek wanted to be fair. He wanted to be seen and recgonised for his fairness. It hurt him that anyone, even an enemy, would think he would resort to trickery when justice was on his side. 

"Do you want me to do any digging into that?" Stiles offered. He was sure that he would be able to find something to use against Argent. Maybe, with his dad's help, they could actually get some of the rebels to testify against him about his acts of terrorism. It would be a good way of separating his dad's forces from Argent's. 

Derek started to say something but then his comm buzzed and he answered it. He spoke briefly to whoever was on the other end of the call, saying nothing that gave Stiles a clear clue what was being discussed, but it was clear from Derek's face that it was serious. After a minute, he ended the call with an order to lay in a course. 

"What's going on?" Stiles asked. 

"I have something new for you to investigate," Derek said. "I need you to research how to stop my empire falling apart. Stilinski, you may want to leave now, we will need to leave very soon." 

"To go where?" Stiles asked. "What's happening?" 

"I need to go to Otpar." 

"Where the hell's Otpar?" 

"Backwater system, mining and manufacturing. The local people have overthrown the empire-appointed governor and they've declared the planet independent from the empire. I need to find a way to regain control of the situation and prevent other planets from getting the same idea without resorting to slaughter." 

Peter would no doubt have bombed the planet from orbit or lined up vast numbers of the populace to set an example, but Derek wouldn't do anything of the sort. A part of Stiles was tempted to just say 'good for them' about a planet deciding that they wanted to govern themselves, but if other planet followed suit it would mean violent uprisings and probably violent responses by the local forces across the various worlds. Stiles could understand why Derek wanted to get control of the situation but he didn't want to help snatch power away from people who'd been desperate enough to openly rebel against the empire. 

"I should get back to my ship," his dad said. He looked long at Stiles. "I take it you're staying here." It was barely a question. 

Stiles nodded. "I can be useful here." 

He didn't just mean investigating things. He could be useful as someone willing to tell Derek off when he made bad calls. That was just as important as whatever information he could dig out that might help Derek with his current problem. And Bee needed someone willing to help him too. With the rebels, Stiles was just the commander's son, important enough to be kept safe but not someone to be trusted with real responsibility. Here, he could make a difference. 

He half-expected his dad to argue still, but he just pulled Stiles into a hug. 

"I'll see you soon," his dad said, squeezing him tightly, but Stiles got the feeling that it was just affection behind the gesture, not fear. His dad trusted that he would be safe here with Derek.


End file.
